
kANKUN^ 



IBR)\RY, 




Number 257. 



Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 



Price 10 Cxs. 



Entered at tht Tiat-O^t at New York, at Sec<md<lMi Mail MaUer. 



BEMINISCENCES 



OF 



MY IRISH JOURNEY 

IN 1849. 

By THOMAS CARLYLE. 



THOMAS' CiVRLYLE'S WORKS. 



/ 



REMINISCENCES BY THOMAS CARLYLE. 

Edited by James Anthony Froude. 12mo, Cloth, Illus- 
trated by Thirteen Portraits, 50 cts. ; 4to, Paper, 20 cts. 

FREDERICK THE GREAT. 

History of Friedrich II., cstlled Frederick the Great. Por- 
traits, Maps, Plans, <fec. 6 vols., 12ino, Cloth, $7 50. 

Probably the history of Frederick will forever remain one of the finest 
pieces of literary painting, as well as one of tlie most marvellous attempts 
at special pleading, extant in our own or any language. — Spectator, London. 

OLIVER CROMWELL. 

Letters and Speeches of Oliver Cruniwell. 2 vols., 12nio, 
Cloth, $2 50. 

A work more valuable as a guide to the study of the singular and 
complex eliaraoter of onr pious revolutionist, our religious demagogue, 
our preacliiug and praying warrior, has not been produced. — JS/ac/cimod'x 
Miifftaine, Loudon. 



THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 

History of the French Revolution. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, 

$2 50. 

No work of greater genius, either historical or poetical, lias been pro- 
duced in this country for many years. — Wcslnmister Revim; London. 

PAST AND PRESENT. 

Past and Present, Chartism, and Sartor Resartus. 12mo, 
Cloth, $1 25. 

The volume contains, under a quaint and singular form, a great deal 
of deep thouglit, sound principle, and fine writing. — North Ame)-kan 
Review. Boston. 

THE EARLY KINGS OF NORWAY. 

The Early Kings of Norway ; also an Essay on the Por- 
traits of John Kno.x. 12mo, Cloth, $1 25. 

It has the picturesque qualities so familiar in Mr. Carlyle's style. — 
Saturday Evening Gazette, Boston. 



fc.-f: 



Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

An;/ of the above works will he sent by mail, postae/e prepaid, to any pari of the United States, on receipt of the price. 



HARPER'S FRANKLIN SQUARE UBllXRY .—Bcccnt Issms.o-: 



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CBNTB. 

135. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. A Novel. By Jahb Acbteh 15 

13G. VVIIITE WINGS: A Yiichtiug Rdinnuce. By William Black 20 

137. CAST UP BY THE SEA. By Sir Samdel W. Bakbk 15 

138. THE MUDFOG PAPERS, &o. By Cuablks Uiokkns 10 

139. LORD BRACKENBURY. A Novel. By A. B. EnwAitns 15 

140. A MEMOIR OF THE REV. SYDNEY SMITH. By his Daughter, Lady 

HOLLAND 15 

141. JUST AS I AM. ANovel. By M. E. Bcaddon 15 

142. A SAILOR'S SWEETHEART. An Accouut of the Wreck of the Sailing 

Ship " Waldershare," from the Narrative of Mr. William Lee, Second 
Mate. A Novel. By W. Clark Russell, Author of *'The Wreck of 
the ' Grosvenor* " 15 

143. THREE VOLUMES OP THE "ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS," ED- 

ITED BY JOHN MORLEY. ROBERT BURNS. By Principal 
Su*iBP.— OLIVER GOLDS.MITH. By William Black.— JOHN BUN- 
YAN. By J. A. Fkoci>k 15 

144. THREE VOLUMES OP THE "ENGLISH MEN OP LETTERS," ED- 

ITED BY JOHN MORLEY. SAMUEL JOHNSON. By Lkslih Ste- 
phen. —SIR WALTER SCOTT. By RiouABi> U. Hdtton. — W. M. 
THACKERAY. By Antuonv Timllope 20 

146. THREE RECRUITS, AND THE GIRLS THEY LEFT BEHIND THEM. 

A Novel. By Josbpii Hatton 15 

146. THE EARLY HISTORY OF CHARLES JAMES FOX. By Geokok 

Otto Trkvklvan, Author of" The Life and Letters of Lord Macflulay." 20 

14T. HORACE MoLEAN: A STORY OF A SEARCH IN A STRANGE 

PLACE. ANovel. By Alioe O'Hani.on 15 

148. FROM THE WINGS. ANovel. By B. H. Bdxton 15 

149. HE THAT WILL NOT WHEN HE MAY. ANovel. By Mrs. OlU'IIant. 15 

150. ENDYMION. A NoveL By the Earl of Bkaconbi'ielii. iyfilh o. Key to 

the Characlerx) 15 

151. DUTY. With Ulustratious of Patience, Courage, and Endurance. By 

Samuel Smiles 15 

152. A CONFIDENTIAL AGENT. A NoveL By James Pavn 15 

153. LOVE AND LIFE. An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume. A 

Novel. By Charlotte M. Yonge, Author of "The Christiana and 

Moors of Spain," &c 15 

THE REBEL OF THE FAMILY. ANovel. By E. Lvnn Linton 20 

DR. WORTLE'S SCHOOL. ANovel. By Anthonv Tbollope. 15 



164. 
155. 
150. 



LITTLE PANSY. ANovel. By Mrs. Randolph 20 

157. THE DEAN'S WIFE. ANovel. By Mrs.C. J. Eiloaet 20 

15S. THE POSY RING. ANovel. By Mrs. Ai.fkeo W. Hunt 10 

159. BEITER THAN GOOD. A Story for Girls. By Annie E. Ridley 15 

160. UNDER LIFE'S KEY, AND OTHER STORIES. By Mary Cecil Hay. 15 

161. ASPHODEL. ANovel. By M. E. Beaddon 15 

162. SUNRISE. ANovel. By William Black 15 

163. THE GLEN OF SILVER BIRCHES. A Novel. By E. Owens Blaok- 

ItDRNE 15 

164. SOCIAL ETIQUETTE AND HOME CULTURE 20 

165. THE WARDS OF PLOTINUS. ANovel. By Mrs. JouN Hunt 20 

166. REMINISCENCES BY THOMAS CARLYLE. Edited by James An- 

thony Feoudk 20 

167. HIS LITTLE MOTHER, AND OTHER TALES AND SKETCHES. By 

Miss Mui.ocK 

16S. LIFE OF GEORGE IV., including his Letters and Opinious, with a View 
of the Men, Manners, aud Politics of his Reigu. Part I. By Percy 
Fitzgerald 20 

169. LIFE OF GEORGE IV., including his Letters and Opinions, with a View 

of the Men, Manners, aud Politics of his Reign. Part 11. By Percy 
Fitzgerald 20 

170. INTO THE SHADE, AND OTHER STORIES. By Mary Cecil Hay.. 15 

171. CiESAR. A Sketch. By James Anthony Fkodde, formerly Fellow of 

Exeter College, Oxford 20 

172. MEMOIRS OF PRINCE METTERNICH. 1773-181,5. Edited by Prince 

RionARi> Metternicu. 'Tlie Papers Classified and Arranged by M. A. 
De Kiinkowslrom. Translated by Mrs. Alexander Napier. lu Four 
Parts. Part 1 20 

173. MEMOIRS OF PRINCE METTERNICH. 1773-1815. Edited by Prince 

Richard Mrttekniou. The Papers Classified and Arranged by M. A. 
De Klinkowstrum. Translated by Mrs. Alexander Napier. In Four 
Parts. Part II 

174. MEMOIRS OF PRINCE METTERNICH. 1815-1829. Edited by Prince 

Richard Metternicu. The Papers Classified and Arranged by M. A. 
De Kliukowstrinn. Translated by Mrs. Alexander Napier. In Four 
Parts. Part III 

175. MEMOIRS OF PRINCE METTERNICH. 1815-1829. Edited by Prince 

RiniiARD Metternicu. Tlie Papers Classified and .\rranged l)y M. A. 

De Klinkowstriiru. Translated by Mrs. Alexander Napier. In Four 

Parts. Poi! !V. 

'7«. FROM EXILE. ANovel. By James Payn 15 

177. MISS WILLIAMSON'S DIVAGATIONS. Stories. By Miss Thackeray. 15 
17S. THOMAS CARLYLE: THE MAN AND HIS BOOKS. Illustrated by 

Personal Reminiscence.s, Table-Talk, aud Anecdotes of Himself and his 

Friends. By Willia.m Howie Wvlie 

179. LORD BEACONSFIELD. A Study. By Geoeq Brandeb. Authorized 

Trnuslation by Mrs. GEoRtjE Sturge 15 

ISO. LIFE AND SURPRISING ADVENTURES OP ROBINSON CRUSOE, 

OF YORK, MARINER 

181. MY LOVS. A Novel. By Mrs. E. Lynn Linton 

182. BESIDE THE RIVER. A Tale. By Katharine S. Macqiioii 

183. HARRY JOSCELYN. A Novel. By Mrs. Oi.ipuant 

184 THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. A Novel. By Anne Beale 

186. THE CHAPLAIN OF THE FLEET. A Novel. By Walter Besant 

and James Rice 

186. MY FIRST OFFER. AND OTHER STORIES. By Mary Cecil IIav.. 

187. UNBELIEF IN THE IStd CENTURY. AS CONTRASTED WITH ITS 

EARLIER AND LATER HISTORY': Being the Cnnninghani Lectures 
for 1380. By John Cairns, D.D., Principal and Professor of Systematic 

Theology and Apologet' ■* in the United Presbvterian College 20 

186. REVISED VERSION 0" THE NEW TESTAMENT ! 20 



10 



20 



20 



20 



20 



, 1812. A 



20 
20 
•2U 

20 



^6' 

' * CENTS. 

189. A CHILD OF NATURE. A Romance. By Robert Cuohanan. . ii 

190. AT THE SEASIDE, AND OTHER STORIES. By Makv Ceiui Hay " is 

191. CORRESPONDE.NCK OF TALLEYRAND AND LOUIS XVIII DUK- 

ING THE CONGRESS OF VIENNA. (Hitherto Unpulilished.) From 
the Manuscripts Preserved in the Archives of the Ministry of Forei"H 
Aflairs at Paris. Wiii a Preface, Observations, and Notes by M. G. 
Pali.ain 

192. VISITED ON THE CHILDREN. A Novel. By Theo' GiVi 

193. A COSTLY HERITAGE. ANovel. By Alice O'Hanlon 
l'.i4. AN OCEAN FREE-LANCE. From a Privateersman's Lw^ 

Novel. By W. Clark Ri'ssBLL " 

195. THE BEAUTIFUL WRETCH. A Brighton Story. By'w.' Black'.' With 

Characteristic Illiistriitions * ' oq 

196. TO-DAY IN AMERU)A. Studies for the Old World and the New. iiy ' 

Joseph Hatton ' 20 

197. AYALA'S ANGEL. ANovel. By Anthony Trollope. .".'.' "O 

198. THE NEPTUNE VASE. .\ Novel. By Virginia W. Johnson! 20 

199. SYDNEY. ANovel. By Georgiana M. Craik 15 

2U0. LETTERS OF MADAME DE REMUSAT TO HER HUSBAND AND " 

SON, FROM 1S04-1S13. From the French by Mrs. Cashel Hoey and 

Mr. John LlLLlE n(^ 

201. THE BLACK SPECK. A Temperance Tale. By F. W. Robinson...'.! 10 
20'2. RESEDA. ANovel. By Mrs. Randolph 20 

203. WARLOCK O' GLENWARLOCK. A Homely Romance. By Geoeoe 

Maodonali 20 

204. WITH COSTS. ANovel. Bv Mrs. Newman !" 15 

W&. THE PRIVATE SECRETARY. ANovel 20 

200. THE CAMERONIANS. ANovel. By James Grant 20 

207. SCEPTRE AND RING. ANovel. By B. H. Bcxton 20 

208. POETRY OF BY'RON. Chosen aud Arranged by Matthew Arnold .. 20 
•209. IVY: COUSIN AND BRIDE. A Novel. By Percy Greg 20 

210. A LIFE'S ATONEMENT. ANovel. By David Christie Murray 20 

211. THE BRAES OF YARROW. A Romance. By Charles Gibbon 20 

212. THE MYSTERIES OF HERON DYKE. A Novel of Incident 20 

213. CHRISTOWELL. A Dartmoor Tale. By R. D. Blaokmore 20 

214. THE COMET OP A SEASON. ANovel. By Jpstin McCarthy 20 

215. A LAODICEAN : or. THE CASTLE OF THE DE STANCYS. A Tale 

of To-day. By Thos. Hardy. Two Illustrations 20 

216. A GRAPE FROM A THORN. ANovel. By James Payn 20 

217. GIUSEPPE GARIBALDI. By J. Theodore Bent, B.A., Oxon. Hid.... 20 

218. SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN. His Family and His Times, with Origi- 

nal Letters and a Discourse of Architecture Hitherto Unpublished. 
1585-1723. By Lucy Phillimore. Two Illustrations 20 

219. THE QUESTION OF CAIN. A Novel. By Mrs. Cashel Hoey 20 

220. CIVIL SERVICE IN GREAT BRITAIN. A History of Abuses and Re- 

forms, and their Bearing upon American Politics. Bv Dorman B. 
Eaton ". 26 

221. THE CAPTAINS' ROOM. A Novel. By Walter Besant and James 

RiOE 10 

222. THE DICKENS READER. Character Headings from the Stories of 

Charles Dickens. Selected, Adapted, and Arranged by N. Sukppard. 

With Numerous Illustrations 25 

223. THE SENIOR PARTNER. A Novel. By Mrs. J. H. Eiddell 20 

224. A HEARTS PROBLEM. ANovel. By Cuarles GinuoN 10 

225. GOD AND THE M.\N. A Novel. By Robert Buchanan 20 

226. MARRLAGES of THE BONAPARTES. By the Hon. D. A. Bingham. . 20 

227. AMERICA: A HISTORY. L The United States.— IL The Dominion 

of Canada. — III. South America, Etc. By Robert Mackenzie 20 

228. MEMOIRS OP PRINCE METTERNICH. 1830-1835. Edited by Prince 

Richard Metternicu. 't'lie Papers Classified and Arranged by M. A. 
De Klinkowstro.m. Part V. Translated by Gerard W. Smith 20 

229. ONE MAY DAY'. ANovel. By Miss Grant 20 

230. THE CONSTITUTIONAL HISTORY OF ENGLAND PROM 1T60 TO 

1860. By Charles Dpkk Yongb M. A 25 

231. THE MAKING OF ENGLAND. By John Richard Green 20 

232. AMONG THE RUINS, AND OTHER STORIES. Dy Mary Cecil Hay 16 

233. HESPEROTHEN; Notes from the West. By W. HowARD.RnssELL,LL.D. 20 

234. LOVE THE DEBT. ANovel. By Bash 20 

235. BEGGAR MY NEIGHBOR. ANovel. By E. D. Geeaed 20 

236. MEMORIES OP OLD FRIENDS. Being Extracts from the Journals and 

Letters of Caroline P'ox, of Penjerrick, Cornwall, 1835 to 1871 20 

237. TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. lU'd 10 

238. TILL DEATH US DO PART. A Novel. By Mrs. J. K. Spender 20 

239. THE FIXED PERIOD. ANovel. By Anthony Trollope 15 

240. EXCII,\NGE NO ROIJBERY. ANovel. By M. BETnAM-EDWARns. lU'd. 15 

241. PLAIN SPEAKING. By Miss Mulook 15 

242. DOROTHY'S VENTURE. ANovel. By Mary Cecil Hay 15 

243. FOR CASH ONLY'. A Novel. By James Payn 20 

244. DOCTOR L'ESTRANGE. ANovel. By Annette Lystek 20 

245. THOMAS CARLYLE. A History of the First Forty Y'cars of his Life. 

ITgS-lS.tS. By J. A. Fkoude, M.A. Illustrated. Vol.1 16 

246. THOMAS CARLYLE. A History of the First Forty Years of his Life. 

1795-1835. By J. A. FuouDK, M.A. Illustrated. Vol.11 15 

247 THE QUEEN OP BOHEMIA. ANovel. By Joseph H.\tton 16 

248. WHY FK.\U FROHMANN RAISED HER PRICES, AND OTHER 

STORIES. By Anthony Trollope 10 

249. MOUNT ROYAL. ANovel. By Miss M. E. Beaddon 15 

2,'iO. MARION FAY. ANovel. By Anthony Trollope. Illustrated '20 

251. TWO OLD CATS. ANovel. By Virginia W. Johnson 15 

25'2. SERMONS ON SPECIAL OCCASIONS. Preached in Westminster Ab- 
bey. Bv Arthur Penriivn Stanley 

253. OUR SE'f : A COLLECTION OF STORIES. By Annie Thomab (Mrs. 

Pender Ccdlip) 

254. THREE VOLUMES OF THE "ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS," ED- 

ITED BY JOHN MORLEY. JOHN MILTON. By Mark Pattison. 

—ALEXANDER POPE. By Leslie Stepuen WILLIAM COWPER. 

Bv GoLi>wiN Smith 

2.'>.'i. GERALDINE AND IIF.R SUITORS. ANovel. By M. C. M. Simpson. 

•'56 AMABEL. ,\ Novel. Bv Mrs. Elizabeth Woemeley Latimep- 

257! REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY IN 1849. By Thomab 
Caulyi.e 



20 



15 



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Number 257. Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 



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REMfflSCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY IN 1849. 



By THOMAS CARLYLE, 



AUTHOR OF 

'FREDERICK THE GREAT,"' "LETTERS AND SPEECHES OF OLIVER CROMWELL," "PAST AND PRESENT," 
'■THE EARLY KIXGS OF NORWAY," "THE FREXCH REVOLUTION," &c. 




A,.i.i ;,„,;LYLE. 



MR. FROUDE'S PREFACE. 



In Mr. Carlyle's journal for 1849 are the two following entries: 

"May 17, 1849. — Am thinking of a tour in Ireland: unhappily 
have no call I desire that way, or any way, but am driven out 
pomewhither (just now) as by the point of bayonets at my back. 
Iichind really is my problem; the breaking-point of the huge sup- 
puration which all British and all European society now is. Set 
down in Ireland, one might at least feel, 'Here is thy problem. In 
God's name, what wilt thou do with it V " 

" Novemlier 11, 1849. — Went to Ireland, as foreshadowed in the 
last entry ; wandered about there all through July ; have half 
forcibly recalled all my remembrances, and thrown them down on 
paper since my return. Ugly spectacle: sad health; sad humor; a 
thing unjoyful to look back upon. The whole country figures in 
my mind like a ragged coat; one huge beggar's gabardine, not 
patched or patchable any longer: far from a joyful or beautiful 
spectacle." 

The remembrances thus set down are here printed. The MS. is 
not one of those which were intrusted by Mr. Cai-lyle to myself. 



It consists merely of fragmentary notes, to which he attributed no 
importance. He gave it to Mr. Neuberg, who was then acting as 
his secretary; Mr. Neuberg gave it to the late Mr. Thomas Bal- 
lantyne ; by Mr. Ballantyne it was sold to a Mr. Anderson, from 
whom it came into the hands of the present publishers, who, being 
in possession of the property, were free to do with it as they 
pleased; but they were good enough to ask my opinion as to the 
propriety of giving it to the world, and I saw no objection to their 
doing so. The Irish problem has not been solved since Mf. Car- 
Ij'le's visit, nor has it been made more easy of solution by the 
policy of successive ministries, which has been precisely opposite 
to what Mr. Carlyle would himself have recommended. His re^ 
marks, rough and hasty as they are, cannot be injurious, and may 
possibly be useful. Nothing which he wrote has been altered, and 
nothing has been suppressed. I have corrected the press as far as 
I have been able, but the handwriting is more than usually intri- 
cate. A few words are almost illegible, and I have not ventured 
on conjectural emendations. 

J. A. Froude. 

O.vsLOW Gardexs, April 22, 1882. 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



Chelsea, ith Oct., 1849. — I will now, my long confused way- 
farings of the summer being ended, endeavor to write down 
with all despatch what I can remember of tbem. After much 
sorting of paper rubbish, reading over of all the Irish letters to 
my wife and kindred, and in some measure clearing the decks 
(not for "action " yet, alas, no, no!), set about this, which I 
partly consider a clearing of my own mind, as some kind of 
" preparation for action." Faxit. 

Saturday, 30th June, 1849. — After endless " agonies of prep- 
aration," natural to a poor stationary, sedentary, biliary, and 
otherwise much-bewildered mortal, about eight in the morning 
I got on board the Chelsea steamer here, at the Cadogan 
Pier; left my poor wife gazing sorrowfully after me, and, in a 
close, damp-sunny morning, was wafted swiftly down the river. 
Memory now is a blank nightmare till I reach the wooden 
platform swinging on the river just above London Bridge, 
north side, and call earnestly for some boatman to take my lug- 
gage and me " to the Atlilone, at Alderman Stairs." Boatman 
comes, a ragged, lean, greasy, and sooty creature, with hurried 
toilsome eyes and shallow shelf chin — "a wholesome small 
nature, terribly beaten upon and stunted" — who cheerfully 
takes me in ; zealously descends the river with me, tide against 
him; whisks his way like a needle through innumerable im- 
pediments of ships, rafts, barges ; sweating, panting, eyes look- 
ing still more toilsome, jacket doffed, shelf chin still more pro- 
truded ; and at half -past nine reaches the Athlone, a dingy, 
dirty-looking Dublin steamer (but a steamer and mode of 
travel I had chosen against my lazy wishes, and in obedience to 
my insights and determinations) ; and, after rowing round 
(steward or third-mate at first refusing to let down the steps), 
puts me on board, takes Is. Od. with protest, the double his fare, 
and splashes away again about his business. There am I on 
board. 

Steamer lying all, to an unexpected degree, as if in a kin.^ of 
greasy sleep. £2 fare demanded by some landsman intere;'' d 
seems the liveliest fact. Canaille of various kinds, Irish !>v 
look, getting itself located in the foredeck ; one yellow-faced, 
roughish, very slight-made Irish figure in cap, half-drunk, fixos 
my attention by his endless talk to stewards, etc., seemingly 
about nothing at all, or next to nothing : a sorrowful phenome- 



non often confirmed afterwards. Half - pay- sergeant -looking 
figure — clean old Lancashire physiognomy of fifty (old Indian 
soldier, now at Falmouth, as I learned afterwards) — is talking 
insipidities about the news from the papers, I forgot what. 
Other figures — the more spectral in my memory, somewhat 
like spectral flies in a spectral glue-pot ! ■ I was very sick in 
body, perhaps still more so in soul ; and had by no means a 
lively mirror of attention to hold up to them. At ten o'clock, 
nevertheless, with unexpected precision, a bell rang, the steam 
mechanism began growling, and we jumbled forth on our way. 
To the river-mouth I remember little with distinctness; the 
day had settled into gray ; with more than enough of east wind, 
now that our own velocity was added to it. The brick chaos 
and ship-and-boat chaos of big London till after Greenw'ich 
lies across my remembrance like an ugly indistinct smear, full 
of noise and confusion, no figure distinct in it. Passengers, 
one after one, came on board ; at Greenwich a great many sol- 
diers, " recruits and invalids," Irish both, the latter from India, 
and "bad subjects" mostly, as I learned afterwards — these 
came on board at Gravesend in great number, drunk many of 
them, with or without officers {u'ithout it afterward turned 
out) ; a nasty sight rather. Pilot-boats hooked themselves 
astern of us, and went shoving through the foam ; sometimes 
as many as four boats at once — " pilots looking out for a job," 
favored by the steamers. A tall antelope or panther figure in 
red coat (about Gravesend, I think) misses the proper boarding- 
place from his boat; steps into one of these pilot-boats, cool 
he amid the tumult of noises and splashing of spray ; and 
twists gallantly aloft over the stern ; dashes the spray from 
self and papers, and, with a brisk calmness which I could 
not but admire, stepped smiling forward to bis place, the 
foredeck: a corporal of foot; commander he, as I found, of 
the broken military there. An exceedingly tall, lank, simple- 
looking Irish gentleman came on board thereabouts too, 
whom T afterwards named to myself the " Irish Toots " (see 
Dickens). A v,t) ^iiort, .*•>!!- ..'/iKiitioiicd, (.'^•jcknrv - i,).iking 
gentleman Imd likewise cou.e. I took hiin for the captiin of 
Tlwse Majesty's forces of ours ; bnt found afterwards ho was a 
tourist, "looking at ai' ♦'iccapital cities"^ — Paris las* -.'ear, 
r>ublin this; lie had ' sea-store (from which I gn <ed a 

wife too) ; his bi^ silly as he was, had ai times a 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



beautiful sorrow in them while he sat silent in the evening on 
deck for a while ; a rough pug-face, tamed into perfect peace- 
able politeness, had in it an air of limited rationality, veracity, 
and Eno'jish wholesomeness, which pleased me. But i nmst get 
on ! Somewhere on the river a big fat Englisliman of fifty 
stepped on board, burly, black, pockmarked, one eye shut 
(seemingly out, but it proved to be in too, on occasion) : some 
trader (one would have hoped, in bacon and edibles) to the 
Plymoutli region, I afterwanls found. Our other cabin passen- 
ger, where, outering I noticed not, was an elderly Lancashire or 
Cumberland man, you could not say of what quality below a 
gentleman; feeble-minded, good-humored, his old wrinkly face 
grew quite blown out at last, the eyes almost shut up, by inflam- 
matory regimen of whiskey, etc., and want of sleep before the 
voyage ended. I did not in the least hate, yet how little, either, 
did I pity, this poor old man. Alas ! wrapped up in our own 
black cares (which we ought to conquer, and keep moderately 
conquered, if we stood to our post), shut up the soul of man from 
feeling for his brother — surely an ignoble state ! Let this suffice 
for our ship's loading. I remember very vaguely Erith, much 
more so Southend, or rather the name of " Southend and its long 
pier " (a Cockney bathing-place). I have a dim tint of gray-green 
country and spectral objects enough there rushing past mo all 
that day and afternoon. Our captain, an excellent, civil, able 
old Welshman, kept aloft on the platform ; very obliging when 
you spoke to him. I went twice there with a cigar, looked 
down into the sea of Irish rabble, and began to decipher type- 
faces of the Irish. The " light-boats," we passed near to two 
or three of them; the dreariest objects I ever in this world 
saw; the "Girder," "Tongue," etc., on their several shoals of 
those names : must keep a light burning at night ; the two 
men have no function else wliatever. I suppose they can eat 
terribly, and sleep nearly the whole day. Their boats were 
bobbing and capering in the wild surf ; narrow was the share 
otherwise these poor fellows had of this Universe. It is a wild 
expanse of shoals and channels, this Thames mouth. I had 
never been on that side of it, at least never in daylight, having 
usually in former voyages passed by the Nore. Of Broadstairs 
and Ramsgate, nothing but a tremulous cloudy shadow re- 
mains. Ditto of Deal. I saw Walmer Castle, Duke of Wel- 
lington's, looking down on us with wings of planted wood ; 
less memorably some big hotel, perhaps more than one, its 
windows glittering in the bleared windy sunset — not beautiful 
to me they, or anything, in that sad mood. Dover (lived at 
twenty-four years before, one autumn) looked grim enough in 
the twilight. I could recognize almost nothing of my old 
localities; the new "entrance of the tunnel" was not recog- 
nizable except as a small blotch. How I took tea, etc., and 
went to bod is quite abolished from recollection ; too well can 
I recollect the snoring of my one-eyed provision friend — whose 
eatinr/ at tea, whole chickens and plates of ham vanishing be- 
fore him, I do now recollect ! Also that I got up, probably 
about midnight ; was told we were opposite Brighton, but 
could see no token of that or of anything but a dim flat coast, 
with some kind of luminous gleam all along where sea met 
land ; whereupon I had to smoke a pipe and descend to my lair 
again. Cyclops snoring still more effectively now : seldom or 
never heard such snoring, which was not a stream, diastole and 
systole, but a whirlpool rather, or system of whirlpools, bottom- 
less maelstroms and sandy syrtis conjoined (ah me !), for the 
man was nearly suffocated by cloud-curtains and by vanished 
plates of ham. I have a dim but certain recollection of jump- 
ing out of my bed or drawer at last, indignantly dashing his 
curtains open, with some passionate demand to " cease that 
beastly gurgling and ghiddering, in the name of all the devils !" 
Whereby at last my heavy Provisional friend did awake ; and 
I fell asleep and heard no more of him for that night. Poor 
fellow! not a bad creature, after all. There seemed a kind of 
healthy banter in him, a merry vivid eye ; probably an excellent 
dealer in bacon, praiseworthy as a British citizen of 1840 ; but 
he did eat excessively, and his snoring was to me at once hate- 
ful and terrible — poor fellow, after all ! 

Sunday morning (1st July) at seven came on deck: beauti- 
fully sunny morning ; Isle of Wight, Ventnor region lying close 



at hand, and the ship motionless waiting for the turn of the 
tide. Wind had gone round from east to west in the night: 
we hung for about an hour with little, at first with next to 
no motion, opposite that southwest region of the little island. 
The special localities, none of which were known to me before- 
hand, I did not get committed to memory. A stragglino- ham- 
let (perhaps about Dunnose, I can't now find on the map any 
name that fixes itself as the name then given me) with a kind 
of bay and clayey nnbeautiful coasts, this stood distinct; less 
so other struggling human objects; and now only Ventnor it- 
self figures as absorbing the whole vivid past of the scene. A 
steepish slope, very green, but rather treeless ; houses and little 
gardens sprinkled over a good part of it, connected by oblique 
paths; grass surface very beautiful everywhere, shrubberies ap- 
parently flourishing. A pleasant group of dwellings hung out 
there against the morning sun; and one of them, I know not 
which, had been John Sterling's last dwelling ! I looked in- 
tently, with many thoughts. Bonchurch not visible now; had 
it been ? I knew also (what was curious to think of) that John 
Forster, little dreaming of my whereabout, was in one White's 
at Bonchurch, down from London that very morning. Far 
elsewhither was I hound. With eye or with glass, looking 
never so intently, I could discover no human or even living 
figure ; which proves perhaps that our distance was greater 
than the short distance it appeared to be. "Toots," very lo- 
quacious when he could get a chance, came talking about Dr. 
McIIale of Tuam ("Chuam " he called it) and Nangle of Achil 
Island; and how John had "cursed them all with bell, book, 
and candle," etc., which I shook off, not believing it at all liter- 
ally, in spite of Toots's evident bona fides, and wishing indeed 
to see Ventnor rather than it. After Ventnor, talk with the 
half-pay sergeant-major ; Wight now flitting faster by us, the 
ship being under full movement again. Of Indian soldiering ; 
mainly about the economics, diffloulties, etc., of locomotion for 
armies ; but, above all things, the prices of articles in the vari- 
ous markets, allowances of grog — what you could ffef, and 
pocket or swallow, by your soldiering in India — this was the 
theme of my half-pay sergeant. A most healthy practical man ; 
simplicity itself, and yet savoir-faire enough; tough as leather, 
and a stroke in him (I could see) like that of a quarter-staff of 
oak. Man worth remembering ; told mo of his pensions, pro- 
motions, appointment now (to some military charge of a dis- 
trict, I think) at Falmouth — "as good as one hundred pounds 
in all, sir, which is very well, yo^l see ;" more total absence of 
brar/yinf) — nay, of self-consciousness or of any unwholesome 
element — it was impossible to see or figure. Soldiering like 
working, in such men ; strong both ways, as native oak : the 
strongest kind of men. After Wight, Needles, etc. (terribly 
worn, almost dilapidated and ruinous, ugly -looking), had rapidly 
flow^ed past — perhaps before ten o'clock — the coast left us ; 
Southampton, etc., far in the distance, passed unnoticed, and I 
think I must have taken to read Quaker Pim's book on Ire- 
land, which else passed unnoticed. Or perhaps I went to sleep ? 
Probably that was it ? Yes, in my note-book (pencil) it is marked 
so — " fell asleep on deck a little in the sun towards noon." 

N. B. After three days more there is not even a pencil scrap, 
nothing but the letters, to help me to decipher what was the 
exact day of this or that occurrence still remembered by me. 

It turned out now there had a man been lost last night. The 
good old captain so reported it. On Saturday evening, most of 
the poor Irish wretches of "invalids" got more or less com- 
pletely drunk ; some of them, even on entering, had needed no 
completing. One of them, a lean, angry, misguided, entirely 
worthless-looking creature, age perhaps forty, came staggering 
upon the quarter-deck, and made a turn there : turn nearly 
completed, he came right upon the captain, who of course or- 
dered him off — which order, though given mildly enough, the 
poor drunk wi-etch felt to be insulting to his honor, and swore 
fiercely not to comply with. A scuffle had ensued (captain's 
hand got " twisted ") ; all of us started up to conjure the poor 
wretch, etc.; he did then turn off, abashed, perhaps repentant 
— had taken more drink for consolation ; was " last seen about 
midnight :" it was now he that was never to be seen more ! 
The Irish physiognomies I studied often from the upper plat- 



EEMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



form. Besides my yellow friend with tlie cap, I had made out 
some five or six type-physiognomies, which I could recognize 
as specimens of Irish classes of faces : there was the angry- 
bewildered, for instance the poor wretch that went overboard, 
■or a still better yet left on board — a lean, withered show of a 
-creature with hanging brows, droop-nose, mouth-corners droop- 
ing, chin narrow, narrow eyes full of sorrow and rage : " I have 
a rjo-ht to be here, sir; I want my ration !" said he once. There 
was there a blond big tiger-face (to whom I lent a light for his 
])ipe); this is of mixed breed, I think a North-country face: 
noble possibility quite marred. Irish sailor at the helm in wig 
and storm-hat; bulky, with aquiline face and closed mouth; 
wild, cunning little eye : like Jock McDonald of my early 
years. Ah me ! These faces are still very clear to me ; and 
were I a painter, I could draw them. Others, one or two, not 
thought of again till now, have got erased. I was struck, in 
general, with the air of faculty misbred and gone to waste, or 
more or less "excellent possibility much marred," in almost all 
these faces. The man had found himself so enveloped in con- 
ditions which he deemed unfair, which he had revolted against, 
but had not been able to conquer, that he had, so to speak, 
lost his wai/ : a sorry sight the tragechj of each of these poor 
men. But here too, surely, is a " possibility ;" if the Irish 
faculty be good, you can breed it, put it among conditions 
which are fair, or at least fairer. 

" Portland Bill :" it was on awakening from one of my deck 
sleeps, well on in the afternoon, that this object: a muddy- 
beached little island, I found ; perhaps an island only at high 
tide — shaped rather like a battle bill — was 
^^*^ <C^ that the origin of the name ? From this point 
V'™N/ the coast continued our neighbor again. By de- 
grees Dorsetshire passed, and then I>evonslure 
with its gnarled rocks (as if they were whinstone or limestone, 
and Scotch rocks) win<led rapidly off, as the evening sank — 
viewless now, damp, and rather windy, as we were running into 
the teeth of the breeze. Many caves, gnarled promontories, 
r(«k islets ; trim houses and fields, no human creature visible ; 
a silent English Sabbath country — like the dream of a Sabbath. 
Mate, of whom anon, points out Plymouth light in the thicken- 
ing dusk; past ten we make the light; Breakwater with its 
red lamp, with its sudden calm sea, and tumult of boats. We 
were in some most dark, strait place, with rain beginning, and 
they called it Plymouth Harbor. Toots's talk to me, while the 
bustle went on, about an Irish lord (jast dead ?) and his brother, 
transcendent blackguards, beautiful once, dance or dinner of in- 
numerable improper females in London once — pity rather that 
I have forgotten that; but of Toots who could do anything 
but forget? Smooth-flowing, shallow, shameless river of talk; 
always in one or two minutes, when I could not bodily get 
away from him, my thoughts slid far away. These transcend- 
ent Irish lords were connected somehow by marriage with the 
late Duke of Gordon. Of my night in this harbor there re- 
mains yet sad memorial; in a scrawl of a letter begun about 
midnight to my wife! Enough here to record the stages or 
chief epochs: 1. To bed very sleepy. Toots and the Lanca- 
shire Non-significant, talking serious jargon for about an hour 
in the cabin, wouldn't let me. I remember the poor Cockney 
tourist had been asking " for a pen ;" remembered post-ofiice 
liere, and started up to write by way of dclivoranco from that 
oar-torment. 2. Writing with ear-torment still worse near at 
hand, my Provisional friend (0 Heaven ! I thought he had been 
gone, never to snore more) stepped in, evidently full of food 
and porter. At sight of him I start, can write no farther; lock 
up my writing-case, wait impatiently that Toots and Non-sig- 
nificant would end. 3. Try bed again; can't at all. Toots and 
Non-significant stumble in, rain patters on the deck. Provisional 
friend takes to snorinr/ — " blubber — gurgle — glnddcr !" I start 
up and don my clothes; find in the cabin too a poor under- 
steward snoring, loudly but humanly, and have not the heart 
to awaken him. Uncertain what to do, fly on deck, smoke 
(under my umbrella), try not to despair; find at last a side 
cabin with nothing in it but rubbish of clothes, a sofa, and an 
open window ; fling myself down there, thanking Heaven, and 
fall sound asleep — till eight next morning. 



Monday, 2d July. — All busy when I came on deck; sunny 
morning; boxes, bales, persons getting or got on board; soon 
sail ; have seen nothing of Plymouth ; see little even of the 
harbor except confusion of ropes and ships; size of it guess- 
able at less than I expected. Tract of town (Catwater they 
called it?) stretching back on the right as we sailed 0!<f; build- 
ings like public storehouses or official houses farther down ; 
two neat women step hurriedly on board there. j1/«sventur- 
ous Irishwomen, giving up their plan of emigration to Aus- 
tralia, and cowering back to Ennis in Clare, as I afterwards 
learned ; sisters, Misses Hewit by name. Breakwater a stone 
glacis, with light-tower (perhaps cannon-tower too) and small 
esplanade at the end, some frigates scattered about ; it was 
Plymouth Sound ; pretty enough in the summer morning after 
such a night. Various new figures now on board ; new prey 
to Toots. I spoke to none ; hoped thej' would leave at Fal- 
mouth, where we were to call. Sick gentleman in big wicker 
cradle lay on the deck ; poor fellow ! " paralytic in the lower 
extremities," going to Dublin for surgery, attended only by a 
rough clown of a servant ; his eyes looked mild and patient, 
though sad; intelligent white face; age probably about thirty- 
five ; they shifted him round out of the sun ; not to embarrass 
him, we had to forbear looking at his cradle or him. 

Cornish coast, as that of Devonshire had been, gnarled, rocky; 
indented all along, harbor and sound (when once you had "open- 
ed " it) — at the bottom of each little bay " Pol " something or 
other, when you asked the name. An interesting event to me. 
Looe : " That is Looe," that strait, hardly perceptible crack or 
notch in the rocks there. Poor C. Buller, poor old years of 
his and mine. Fowey-harbor entrance was marked by white 
spots, a cov.]Ae, jKiinted on the rocks; not find it otherwise. 
Toots ^;;ry/;(y on the new-comers. " Hum-m-ra. Drum-m-m !" 
with a strong Irish intonation in it. Many trim sloops of one 
pattern, with red sails and conspicuous label ("P. H. No. 1," 
etc. ? something like that), were nimbly cutting about : " Pil- 
chard-boats, sir ! " All busy here, crowded steamer crossed 
us on the loft; pleastire-trip, Falmouth — to the Eddystone 
probably. Half-pay sergeant did the honors of the coast as 
we approached his new home ; has liberty, seemingly, of the 
quarter-deck, Ixit feeds and sleeps in some region of his own. 
About noon, or after, passed St. Mawes, and on the left passed 
Pendenuis — Falmouth ; and moor there " for about an hour " 
— which proved two hours and more. 

I might — had I foreseen that latter fact — have gone ashore 
to see " Barclay Fox " and Co., if nothing better ; nay, I was 
near going, had my foot on the ladder towards a boat, but in 
the sci'ambling tumult gave it up again, and decided to stay 
and look about me, and pensively smoke and consider. John 
Sterling's house was there too ; but nobody could tell me which ; 
though one, a brisk young damsel, did point out the warehouse 
of the Foxes, a big house near the sea. Falmouth might con- 
tain three or four thousand souls (as the look suggested to 
guess) ; it hung, pleasantly enough, though much too bare- 
looking, on the slope of the acclivity and down close to the 
sea; reminded me a little of Kirkcaldy, except that this was 
squarish in shape, not "along town," rather a "loose town," 
as I judged: one street near the sea, main street I suppose, on 
the level; the sloping thoroughfares I judged to be mostly 
lanes. The country looked bare ; the harbor, land-locked, is 
beautiful, and, if deep, must be excellent. Assisted clown to 
screen the poor invalid gentleman in his cradle from the hot 
windless sun ; fixed up my own umbrella over him, which the 
clown afterwards told me, in confidential gratitude, was "a 
graat suppoart." Sent a card ashore to Fox ; admired the 
clean, sturdy, clear-looking boatmen ; watched their long, dan- 
gerous loading and disloading. Toots had gone. Provisional 
friend (O joy !) had gone; hoped we should now have a stiller 
time. About two the steam growled again, and we got under 
way, close to the little pleasant Castle of Pendennis this time, 
a trim castellated height, with trim paths, etc. (one company 
in it. Sergeant Half-pay had said) ; and so again out to the 
open deep. 

Our two Irishwomen, " from Ennis, in Clare," with their 
clean summer bonnets (mere clean calico, folded full over paste- 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



board, with a tack or two ; much admired by mc), had come to 
the quarter-deck ; wished evidently to be spoken to ; were by 
mc after others of us. Father had been a lieutenant of foot 
with pension, mother too with pension ; both being dead, re- 
sources were all out; parson had advised eniioration, "free 
passa^'e to Australia" was certain if we would deposit £12 in 
advance; deposited, sold off, came to Plymoutli, found the "free 
passage " a passage among Irish paupers, and shrieked (of course) 
at the notion of it! Officers liad been extremely helpful and 
polite ; got us back, with difHculty, our £12, and here we are, 
wending our sad way home again ! A more distressing story 
I had not lately heard. For both the women — "ladies" you 
could not have hesitated, even in the poorhouse, to call them — 
were clearly of superior faculty and quality : the elder some 
forty-five perhaps, a rugged, brave-looking woman ; the younger 
delicate, graceful, and even still beautiful, though verging tow- 
ards middle-age also. The two unfortunates, w;is there noth- 
ing other for them by way of career in the world but this ? 
The younger was quite pleasant company ; but at " the Lizard," 
or earlier, began to grow sick, grew ever sicker, and I had to leail 
her to her place, a horrible den called " Second Cabin," and 
there leave her sister and her. Ill-nature of the stewardess, tiff 
between the good old captain and her because of these poor 
Miss Ilewits. " Bring me our basket, pray, sir ! Stewardess 
will give it you ! " were the last words of the elder from her 
dark den. Stewardess knew nothing of their basket, not she ; 
old captain awoke from his after-dinner nap, reproached the 
woman for her greedy hard character, ordered her to "know" 
the basket, which, with very angry tears, assisted by me and 
my soothing eloquence, the creature at last did. Base, in 
many cases, under certain aspects, is the mind of man ! 

The "Lizard point" we would pass before dinner; stormy 
place of cliffs, high cliffs, rough water; I found that in shape 
it did resemble somewhat the head of a lizard — at least on the 
western sides it does. We were past the " sonther"raost land 
of Britain then ; but the tossing of the water did not abate as 
promised. The evening light glared wild and sad upon the 
solitary sea: to the Land's-end, that was the word now. Coast 
still high and all rock ; Land's-end stretching out black ahead. 
It was towards sunset when we actually reached it ; passed it 
round the light-house, at the distance perhaps of a mile. The 
wildest, most impressive place I ever saw on the coasts of 
Britain. A lighthouse rises on a detached rock, some consid- 
erable space ahead ; many detached rocks, of a haggard skel- 
eton character, worn haggard by the wild sea, are scattered 
about between the lighthouse and end of the firm cliff. That 
cluster, where the lighthouse is, had seemed to me like the 
ruins of a cathedral for some time. Very wild and grim, im- 
pressive in itself and as the notablest of British capes. A 
farm-house, called by sailors " First and Last," stands very near 
to the extremity ; farther round to the west are villages and 
many houses visible — "mining village," 3'ou are told; the 
promontory itself is among the highest I have seen (much 
higher than St. Bees, I thought) ; sheer and black. A boat or 
two, poor specks of piscatory human art, were seen rocking 
and paddling among the angry skeleton rocks in these ever- 
vexed waters ; where they were to land, or how get up to 
" First and Last," one didn't well see. But here at last is the 
spectre of the mixed cathedral — a light-house among haggard 
sea-beat rocks, namely ; and we are round the Land's-end, get- 
ting round towards the western side of it, and had better look 
well our last. The sunshine now wont out, angry breeze blew 
colder from dark cloudy skies; baddish night, probably? Some 
poor, laboring ship, with patched sails, and not otherwise of pros- 
perous aspect, met us just past the light-house, borne into the 
grim evening, it on its way, we on ours ; and the Land's-end 
was among the things that had been : " Standing for the Tus- 
kar, sir! " Tuskar light on the coast of Wexford, one hundred 
and thirty miles off. And so the evening and the morning 
had been a new day. 

As there was nothing to be seen on dock but the dim tu- 
mult of sea and sky, I suppose I must have gone early to bed. 
I can remember shutting my little cabin-door (for the harsh 
stewardess, in hope, probably, of a shilling, had volunteered to 



make a bed for mc in the place where I had found refuge the 
night before) with a satisfied feeling, and turning in with great 
hope ; but, alas ! it proved far otherwise. My first experience 
in the new bed was a jolt that nearly threw me out. The wind 
had risen, was still rising ; the steamer pitched, rolled, tumbled, 
creaked, and growled. Doors banging, men's feet and voices 
sounding, and the big sea booming and roaring. Not a wink of 
sleep could be had all night ; hardly could one's place in bed 
be maintained. Some time, perhaps between three and four, 
I went on deck to smoke; a wild, wet, stormy dimness every- 
where. The mate, dripi)ing from every angle of his face and 
person — with thin, wet shoes on, I remember — approached my 
shelter, talking sea stoicisms to me, admitting that it was a 
roughish night. Noticeable fellow, this; very civil, very good- 
humored, sliding about (for he trailed his limbs and feet with 
thin shoes) to put this and that detail m order always; voice 
thin, creaky, querulous — hesitatory, and as if it couldn't be 
troubled to speak; a rocking, sliding, innocent-hearted "sea- 
pedant" (as such I had classed him), with lips drawn in, puck- 
ered brow, and good-humored eyes pretending to be wearier 
than they were ; came from the Medway, had been wrecked, 
traded to Aberdeen, was now puddling about in these seas — 
may he prosper, poor fellow I I flung myself next on the sofa, 
under miscellaneous wrappage, and did then get some stony 
sleep till the morning fairly broke. 

Tuesday, 3rf July. — On deck between eight and nine, all 
hands looking out for " the Tuskar " when doing nothing else ; 
old captain and a wretched passenger or two trying to walk 
the quarter-deck (impossible for any <wo-footed land animal); 
big sheets of spray dashing over them from time to time. A 
wild, gray tumult; sight and sound everywhere of the rather 
dismal sort in sea and in sky. One ship, or perhaps two, 
at various times visible ; elsewhere no 'Tuskar, no motion 
that was not of the chaotic powers. Sailors made a wave or 
motion, or sound of some sort, from the platform ; captain, 
too, looked; Tuskar at last! In a few instants more I also 
could see it. White pillar or tower rising steady amid the tu- 
mult of the waters, strange and welcome ; some twelve miles 
off, they said. We turned now gradually to the right; for 
Arldow" Head, for Wicklow ditto; then was Dublin itself to 
come. Wind, as we iwrwad from it on our new course, grew 
softer somewhat, and water smoother , but all day it was gust.y^ 
very uncomfortable, and too cold. The poor sick gentleman 
had passed the night on deck, his cradle well screened under 
tarpaulins, and didn't seem much hurt by the rough weather. 
Lancashire Non-significant, who took a little punch perhaps too 
often, seemed greatly out of sorts ; his poor face, red as ver- 
milion in parts, and swollen as if you had blown up all its old 
wrinkles with wind, poor devil ! Yet he ate again at break- 
fast, and made no complaint, took nothing amiss. 

" Wexford Harbor," visible only as a blank on the line of 
coast, was a mere tradition to us. Wexford and Wicklow 
hills (I supposed about Enniscorthy and Ferns) ; many com- 
monplace-looking hills of moderate height and complex 
arrangement now visible. Vinegar Hill, a peaked, flat cone, 
conspicuous enousrh among the others. Thought of the " Bat- 
tle of Vinegar Hill," bnt not with interest; with sorrow rather 
and contempt: one of the ten times ten thousand futile, fruit- 
less " battles " this brawling, unreasonable people has fought — 
the saddest of distinctions to them among peoples ! In Heav- 
en's name, learn that "revolting" is not the trade which will 
profit you. The unprofitablest of all trades, if you exceed in it ! 
In Heaven's name, either be at peace, or else try to fight with 
some chance of success! "Hill of Tarah," visible too, of 
conical shape, but not the historical-illustrious Tara — that is 
in Meath, I think — though that, too, is but moderately " illus- 
trious" to me. 

Arklow Town I didn't see at all; understood there was next 
to no town, but remembered "Wooden Ludlow's" adventure 
there, and could have liked to take some picture of the ground 
with me. Wicklow Head, beautiful trim establishment of a 
light -house there, properly three towers (one or else two of 
them having proved wrong built) ; accurately whitewashed, 



8 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



walled in, with paths, etc., a pleasure to look at upon the brown 
crag. These generally like that of Devonshire or the lower 
forms of Scoteh coast ; interior not ill-cultivated ; houses trim 
enough from the distance, fields fenced, and some small strag- 
glings of plantation even. Behind Wicklow Head, iu a broad, 
shallow bay looking rather hlcarcd, found AVicklow Town ; kept 
looking at it as we sailed northward right away from it ; lies in 
a hollow on the southern side of the bay, screened by Wicklow 
Head from the east winds — rather a feeblish kind of county 
town — chapels, a steeple, slate roofs, thin cloud of smoke ; per- 
haps two or towards three thousand inhabitants, as I judged. 
In- all these seas we saw no ship, absolutely none at all but 
one Wicklow fishing-sloop, of the same form, but quite rusty 
and out of repair, as the Cornish pilchard-sloops of yesterday 
— alas, one, and in this state of ineffectuality ! A big steamer 
■farther on, making from Dublin towards " Bristol " (I think 
our captain said) ; this and a pilot-boat not employed by us : 
except these three, we saw no other ships at all in those Irish 
seas that day. Wonderful and lamentable! chorus all my 
• Irish friends ; and grope for their pikes to try and mend it ! 
Bray Head I had seen before ; and Bray, but couldn't make 
my recollections correspond. Beautiful suburban country by 
the shores there, on the Dublin side. Works of Wicklow 
Railway, banging over the sea, I remember, probably about 
Bray Head. Afternoon sinking lower ; wind cold, bleary, 
loud ; no dinner till one got to Dublin. Wish we were there. 
Dublin Bay at last ; Kingstown with its small exotic rows of 
villas hanging over the salt-water; Dalkey Islet, with ruined 
church, close on the other side of us; Kingstown Harbor, huge 
square basin within granite moles, few ships, small business in 
it; wild wind was tossing some filament of steam about (mail- 
stcamor getting ready, I suppose, for Holyhead), and the rest 
. was idle vacancy. Long lines of granite embankment, a noble 
channel with docks, in'des of it (there seemed to me), and no 
ship in it, no human figure on it, the genius of vacancy alone 
, possessing it! Will " be useful some day," I suppose? The 
look of it, in one's own cold, wretched humor, was rather sad. 
Dublin Harbor at last ; a few ships actually moored here along 
the keys nearest to the city. Tumult, as usual ; our key was 
on the north bank. Miss Hewits came up, specially begged me 
not to leave their luggage once on shore till they themselves 
came with the remainder of it. Did so, though little able to 
.wait ; was hardly ever in a more deplorable state of body than 
even now. Despatched the Miss Hewits ; got into a cab my- 
self, escaping from the unutterable hurly-burly. "Imperial 
. Hotel, Sackville Street !" and was safely set down there, in 
■ wind and dust, myself a mass of dust and inflammatory ruin, 
about si.\ or seven in this evening of Tuesday, July 3. What 
a pleasure to get fairly washed, and into clean linen and 
clothes, once more! Small, wholesome dinner in the ground 
story ; fine, roomy, well-ordered place ; but, alas ! at the Post- 
office there was no admittance : " all shut at seven." I had to 
take that disappointment, and, instead of receiving letters, write 
letters. 

Imperial Hotel people, warned, I suppose, by Fitzgerald (Miss 
Purcell the proprietress's nephew), had brightened up into en- 
thusiastic smiles of welcome at sound of my name. All was 
done for me then that human waiterage, in the circumstances, 
could do. I had a brisk-eyed, deft Irish youth, by way of spe- 
cial attendant; really a clever, active, punctual youth, who 
seemed as if he would have run to the world's end for me, at 
lifting of my finger. He got me cloak-pins (ray little bed- 
room, the "quietest" they had, wanted such), bath-tubs, at- 
tended to my letters, clothes, mess.ages, waited on me like a 
familiar fairy. Could they have got me into a room really 
" quiet," where I might have really slept, ull had been well 
there. But that was not possible ; not there, nor anywhere 
else in inns. One's "powers of observation" act under sad 
conditions if the nerves are to be continually in a shatter with 
want of sleep and what it brings ! Under that sad condition, 
as of a gloomy pressure of waking nightmare, were all my Irish 
operations, of observation or other, transacted ; no escape from 
it ; take it silently, therefore, my nothing more of it, but do the 
. best you may under it, as under a law of fate. 



; 



About ten at night, still writing letters, I received " John 
O'llagan's " visit ; a note from Duffy,' who was dining there, 
had lain waiting for mc before. Brisk, innocent, modest young 
barrister, this John O'llagan.^ Duffy's sister-in-law did by no 
manner of means let rooms ; so her offer of one, indicated in 
Duffy's note, had to be at once declined. Duffy himself 
" would be here in half an hour." Wrote on to my mother or 
to Jane. Duffy came soon after the time set. Drank a " glass 
of lemonade " from me, I a glass of punch ; took my letters of 
introduction home with him to scheme out a route ; gave me 
a road series, "drive here first, then there, then, etc.," for Dub- 
lin introductions on the morrow ; and, after a silent pipe, I 
tumbled into bed. 

Wednesday, ith July. — Breakfast in the public room ; con- 
siderable company : polite all, and less of noise among them 
than when I was formerly there. Arrangements all perfect ; 
" toasted bacon," coffee, toast, all right and well served. No 
letters for me at the Post-office ! strange, but no help. Car (" a 
shilling an hour") about noon (I think), to go and deliver my 
introductions ; f/ot a body of letters just as I was stepping out 
on this errand.' All right, I hope; postmaster mistaken before ! 
Macdonnel, of the National Schools, " engaged ;" very well ; to 
Board of W^orks, I'oor-law Power not come ; Larcom just com- 
ing, read my letters in his room; go away then, as he has not 
yet got his business done.* In Merrion Square, Dr. Stokes in : 
clever, energetic, but squinting, rather fierce, sinister-looking 
man — at least some dash of that suspoctable in him — to dine 
there, nevertheless, to-morrow evening. Dr. Kennedy not at 
home. Sir R. Kane ditto (out of town) ; Sir Duncan Macgregor, 
found him, an excellent old Scotchman, soldierly, open, genial, 
sagacious; Friday night to dine with him ;' left my other mili- 
tary letters there, and drove to Mrs. Callan's (Duffy's sister-in- 
law): had missed Pim, the Quaker, before ; "in London;" left 
Forster's letter, declining to see the other members of the firm 
just now. Long talk with Mrs. Callan, Dr. C, and Mrs. Duffy ; 
Duffy in his room ill, of slight cold. Home to Imperial again, 
with a notice that I will go and hithe at Howth. Find Dr. 
Evory Kennedy at the door as I am inquiring about that ; go 
in with him, talk; he carries me in his vehicle to the Howth 
Station, not possible for this night; caii do it at Kingstown; 
drives off for the station thither, with repeated invitations that 
I will dine with him ; finds on the road that Kingstown also 
will not do, and renews his entreaties to dine, which, seeing 
now no prospect for the evening, I comply with. Kennedy 
drives me all about ; streets beautiful, but idle, empty ; charm- 
ing little country-house (name irrecoverable now), beyond some 
iron-foundry or forge-works, beyond " Rev. Dr. Todd's," on the 
Dundrum or Ranclagh side. Wife and sisters all out to receive 
us ; sisters, especially elder sister, expected to be charmed at 
sight of " Thomas Carioil !" though whether they adequately 
were or not, I cannot say. Pleasant enough little dinner there ; 
much talk of Pitt Kennedy, a brother, now with Napier, in 
India ; vivid, inventive, patriotic man, it would appear, of whose 
pamphlets they promised me several (since read, not without 
some real esteem of the headlong Pitt Kennedy) ; other brother 
is Lord Bath's agent in Monaghan '—hence, chiefly, those atten- 
tions to me. Ladies gone — pale, elderly, earnest-eyed, lean 
couple of sisters, insipid- beautiful little wife. "Dr. Cooke 
Taylor" is announced; a snuffy, babbling, baddish fellow, 
whom I had not wished at all specially to see. Strange dialect 
of this man, a Youghal native ; London had little altered that: 
immense lazy gurgling about the throat and palate regions ; 
speech coming out at last not so much in distinct pieces and 
vocables as in continuous condition — semi-masticated speech. 
A ])cculiar smile, too, dwelt on the face of poor snuffy Taylor; 
I pitied but could not love him— with his lazy gurgling, semi- 

' Duffy, the present Sir Charles Gavan DuflFy. 

' .John O'Hagan is the present Judge O'Hagan, chief of tlie Irish Land 
Commission. 

^ See Alex. Macdonnel, the Chief Commissioner of Education. 

* Colonel Larcom, head of the OiJnance Survey. 

^ (Mrief Commissioner of Police. 

' Tristram Kennedy, since M.P. for Louth. 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



masticated, semi-deceitfnl (and self-deceiving) speech, thought, 
and action. Poor fellow ! one of his books that I read, " On 
the Manufactnring Regions in 1843," was not so bad. Lord 
Clarendon, a great patron of his, had got him a pension, brought 
him over to Ireland : and now (about a fortnight .ago, end of 
September) I learn that he is dead of cholera ; that, better or 
not so good, I shall never sec him again ! We drove homo to- 
gether that night in Dr. Kennedy's car; I set him out at his 
house (in some modest, clear street, near Merrion Square) ; two 
days after, I saw him at the Zooiogical breakfast ; gurgle-snutfle, 
Cockney-and-Youghal wit again, in semi-masticated dialect, with 
great expressions of regard for me, as well as with other half or 
whole untruths ; and so poor Taylor was to vanish, and the 
curtains rush down between us, impenetrable for evermore. 
Allah akhar, Allah kerim ! 

Thursday, 5th July. — What people called, what bustle there 
was of cards, and people, and appointments, and invitations in 
my little room, I have quite forgotten the details of (letters in- 
dicate more of it perhaps) : what I can remember is mainly 
what I did, and not quite definitely (except with effort) all or 
the most of that. 

Notes and visitors, hospitable messages and persons, Mac- 
donnel, Colonel Foster, Dr. Kennedy — in real truth, I have for- 
gotten all the particulars ; of Thursday I can remember only a 
dim hurly-burly, and whirlpool of assiduous hospitable calls 
and proposals, till about four o'clock, when a " Sir Philip 
Crampton," ' by no means the most notable of my callers, yet 
now the most noted in ray memory — an aged, rather vain, and 
not very deep-looking doctor of physic — came personally to 
"drive me out;" drive me to the Phffinix Park and Lord-lieu- 
tenant's, as it proved. Vapid-inane-XooWn^ streets in this Dub- 
lin, along the quays and everywhere; sad defect of wagons, 
real business vehicles, or even gentleman's carriages ; nothing 
but an empty whirl of street cars, huckster carte, and other 
such " trashery." Sir P.'s talk, of Twistleton mainly — Phoenix 
Park, gates, mostly in grass, monument, a pyramid, I really 
don't remember in " admonition " of what — some victory per- 
haps? Fraser's "Guide-book" would tell. Hay going on, in 
pikes, coils, perhaps swaths too ; patches of potatoes even : a 
rather dimmish, wearisome look. House with wings (at right 
angles to the body of the building), with esplanade, two sen- 
tries, and utter solitude ; looked decidedly dull. Sir P., some 
business inside, though lordship out, leaves me till that end; I 
write my name, with date merely, not with address, in his lord- 
ship's book ("haven't the honor to know her ladyship"), am 
conducted through empty galleries into an empty room in the 
western (or is it northern ?) wing, am there to wait. Tire soon 
of waiting ; walk off leaving message. Sir P. overtakes me be- 
fore we reached the gate ; sets me down at my hotel again, 
after much celebration of his place in the Wicklow hills, etc., 
after saluting an elderly roue Prince or Graf something — a 
very unbeautiful, old, boiled-looking foreign dignitary (Swede, 
I think) married to somebody's sister; and, with salutations, 
takes himself away, muttering about " Zoological society break- 
fast on Saturday," and I, barely in time now for Stokes's din- 
ner, behold him no more. 

Stokes's dinner was well replenished both with persons and 
other material, but it proved rather unsuccessful. Foolish Mrs. 
Stokes, a dim Glasgow lady, with her I made the reverse of 
progress, owing chiefly to ill-luck. She did bore me to excess, 
but I did not give way to that; had difficulty, however, in re- 
sisting it ; and at length once, when dinner was over, I answer- 
ing somebody about something, chanced to quote Johnson's, 
" Did I say anything that you understood, sir ?" the poor fool- 
ish lady took it to herself; bridled, tossed her head with some 
kind of indignant-polite ineptitude of a reply ; and before long- 
flounced out of the room (with her other ladies, not remem- 
bered now), and became, I fear, my enemy forever! Petrie, a 
painter of landscapes, notable antii|uarian, enthusiastic for Erian 
Boru and all that province of affairs ; an excellent, simple, af- 
fectionate, lovable soul, "dear old Petrie," he was our chief 

' Surgeon -general. 



figure for me: called for punch instead of wine, he, and was 
ii-radually imitated; a thin, wrinkly, half-ridiculous, yet mildly 
dignified man ; old bachelor, you could see ;' speaks with a^jan^- 
in;/ manner, difficult to find the word ; shows real knowledge, 
though with sad credulity on Irish anti(]uarian matters; not 
knowledge, that I saw, on anything else. Burton,' a young por- 
trait-painter ; thin-aquiline man, with long thin locks scattered 
about, with a look of real painter-talent, but thin, proud-vain ; 
not a pleasant " man of genius." Todd, antiquarian parson 
(dean or something), whose house I had seen the night before: 
little round-faced, dark-complexioned, squat, good-humored, and 
knowing man ; learned in Irish antiquities he too ; not with- 
out good instruction on other matters too. These and a mute 
or two were the dinner ; Stokes, who has a son that carves, 
sitting at the side ; after dinner there came in many other 
mutes, who remained such to me. Talk, in spite of my en- 
deavors, took an Irish-versus-English character ; wherein, as I 
really have no respect for Ireland as it now is and has been, it 
was impossible for me to be popular ! Good-humor in general, 
though not without effort always, did maintain itself. But 
Stokes, " the son of a United Irishman," as I heard, grew more 
and more gloomy, emphatic, contradictory : after eleven I was 
glad to get away, Petrie and others in kindly mood going 
with me so far as our roads coincided ; and about twelve (I 
suppose) I got to bed — and do 7iot suppose also, but know, that, 
there was a wretched wakeful night appointed me : some neigh- 
boring guest taken suddenly ill, as I afterwards heard. (I must 
get on faster, be infinitely briefer in regard to all this !) 

Friday, 6 th July. — Still in the bath-tub when my waiter 
knocked at the door, towards nine ; and, so soon as let in, gave 
me a letter with notice that some orderly, or heiduc, or I know 
not what the term is, was waiting in some vehicle for an an- 
swer. Invitation from Lord Clarendon to dine with him on 
Saturday : here was a nodus ! For, not having slept, I had re- 
solved to be out of Dublin and the noise without delay. Ken- 
nedy had pressed me to his country-house for a dinner on 
Saturday, and that, though not yet in words, I had resolved to 
do, his hospitality being really urgent and his place quiet ; and 
now has the Lord-lieutenant come, whose invitation abolished 
by law of etiquette all others! Out of the cold bath, on the 
spur of the moment thou shalt decide, and the heiduc waits ! 
Polite answer (well enough really) that I am to quit Dublin 
that evening, and cannot come. Well so far ; so much is tol- 
erably ended. New very polite note came from Lord Clarendon 
offering me introductions, etc., an hour or two after; for which 
I wrote a second note, " Not needed ; thousand thanks." This 
morning I had to breakfast with O'Hagan, where were two young 
" Fellows of Trinity," great admirers, etc., and others to be. 

Fellows of Trinity, breakfast, and the rest of it accordingly 
took effect : Talbot Street — I think tjjfey called the place — 
lodgings, respectable young barrister's. Hancock, the Political- 
Economy Professor, whom I had seen the day before ; he and 
one Ingram, author of the Repeal song " True men like you 
men," were the two Fellows ; to whom, as a mute brother, one 
Button was added, with "invitation to me " from the parental 
circle, " beautiful place somewhere out near Howth " — very 
well, as it afterwards proved. " Dr. Murray," Theology Pro- 
fessor of Maynooth, a big burly mass of Catholic Irishism; he 
and Duffy, with a certain vinaigrous, pale, shrill logician figure, 
who came in after breakfast, made up the party. Talk again 
England versus Ireland ; a sad, unreasonable humor pervading 
all the Irish population on this matter. " England does not 
hate you at all, nor love you at all ; merely values and will pay 
you according to the work you can do!" No teaching of that 
unhappy people to understand so much. Dr. Murray, head 
cropped like stubble, red-skinned face, harsh gray Irish eyes; 
full of fiery Irish zeal, too, and rage, which, however, he had 
the art to keep down under buttery-vocables: man of consider- 
able strength, man not to be "loved" by any manner of means! 
Hancock, and now Ingram too, were wholly English (that is to 

' Mr. Petrie wiis father of a numerous family. 

^ At present connected with the National Gallery in London. 



10 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



say, Irisli-rational) in sentiment. Duffy vcr}' 2>l<^intive, with a 
strain of rage audible in it. Vinaigrous logician, intolerable in 
that vein, drove me out to smoke. Not a pleasant breakfast in 
the humor I was then in ! 

University after, along with these two Fellows; library and 
busts; Mnscum, with big, dark Curator Ball in it; many knick- 
knacks — skull of Swift's Stella, and plaster cast of Swift: 
couldn't write my name, except all in a tremulous, scratchy 
.shiver, in such a state of nerves was I. Todd had, by appoint- 
ment, been waiting for mo ; was gone again. Right glad I to 
get home and smoke a pipe in peace, till Macdonnel (or some- 
body) should come for nic ! Think it was this day I saw,' 
among others. Councillor Ijutt, brouglit up to me by Duffy : a 
terrible, black, burly son of earth; talent visible in him, but 
still more animalism; big bison-head, black, not jwi^e unbrutal: 
glad when he went off " to the Galway Circuit," or whither- 
soever.' 

Sad reflections upon Dublin and the animosities that reign 
in its hungry existence. Mot now the " capital " of Ireland ; 
Las Ireland any capital, or where is its future capital to be ? 
Perhaps Glasgow or Liverpool is its real "capital city" just 
Jiow ! Here are no longer lords of any kind ; not even the 
sham lords, with their land revenues, come hither now. The 
iplace has no njanufactures to speak of, except of ale and whis- 
key, and :i little poplin-work — none that I could hear of. All 
■tiie " litigation " of Ireland, whatever the wretched Irish people 
"will still pay for the voiding of their quarrels, comes hither ; 
that and tlie sham of government about the Castle and Pha'nix 
Park — which could as well go anywhither if it were so ap- 
pointed. Where will the future capital of Ireland be? Alas! 
■■iiihfii will there any real aristocracy arise (here or elsewhere) to 
need a capital for residing in ? 

About four P.M., as appointed, Macdonnel,^ with his car, 
came. " Son of a United Irishman " he too. Florid, handsome 
man of forty-five, with gray hair, keen hazel eyes, not of the 
very best expression : active, quick, intelligent, energetic, with 
something smelling of the hypocrite in him, disagreeably limit- 
ing all other respect one might willingly pay him. Talis qua/is, 
with him through the streets. Glasneven toll-bar, woman has 
not her groat of change ready; streaks of irregularity, streaks 
of squalor noticeable in all streets and departments of things. 
Glasneven church; woody, with high enclosures, frail-looking 
old edifice, roof mainly visible ; at Ictigth Glasneven model 
farm — nearly the best thiwi, to appearance, I have yet seen in 
Ireland. Modest slated buildings, house, school, and offices, for 
real use, and fit for that. Slow-spoken, heavy-browed school- 
master croaks out sensible, pertinent speech about his affairs: 
an Ulster man (from Larne, I think ; name forgotten), has 
forty-five pupils from seventeen to twenty-one years ; they are 
working about, dibbling, sorting dung-heaps, sweeping yards. 
Mac. speaks to several : coarse, rough-haired lads, from all sides 
of Ireland, intelligent well-doing looks through them all. School- 
ing alternates with this husbandry work. Will become Na- 
tional Schoolmasters — probably factors of estates if they excel 
and have luck. Clearly, wherever they go they will be practi- 
cal missionaries of good order and wise husbandry, these poor 
lads : a«<«-chaos missionaries these. Good luck go with them ! 
more power to their elbow 1 Such were my reflections, ex- 
pressed in some such words. Our heavy-browed, croaking- 
voiced friend has some thirty cows ; immense pains to preserve 
all manure ; it is upon this that his husbandr}' turns. A few 
pigs ; first-rate health in their air. Some thirty acres of ground 
in all ; wholly like a garden for cultivation : best hay, best bar- 
ley ; best everything. I left him and his rough boys, wishing 
there were a thousand such establishments in Ireland. Alas ! 
I saw no other in the least equal to it ; doubt if there is anoth- 
er. Mac. talking confidentially, and with good insight too, of 
Archbishop Whately, etc., set me down at the hotel, to meet 
again at dinner. Hasty enough toilet, then Sir Duncan Mac- 
gregor's close car, and 1 am whisked out to Drumcondra, whore 
the brave Sir Duncan himself, with wife and son, and a party in- 
cluding Larcom and two ancient Irish gentlemen, etc., are waiting. 



' The late Isaac Butt, M.P. 



" Sir Alex. Macdonnel. 



Pleasant old country-house ; excellent, quietly genial, and hos- 
pitable landlord ; dinner pleasant enough, really. Macdonnel 
sat by me, somewhat flashy ; Larcom opposite, perhaps ditto, 
but it was in the English style. Ancient Irish gentlemen were 
of really excellent breeding, yet Irish altogether: these names 
quite gone (if ever known, according to the underhreath method 
of introduction), their figures still perfectly distinct to me. In 
white neckcloth, opposite side, a lean figure of sixty ; wrinkly, 
like a washed blacksmith in face, yet like a gentleman too — elab- 
orately washed and dressed, yet still dirty-looking; talks of an- 
cient experiences in hunting, claret-drinking; experiences of 
others, his acquaintances, all dead and gone now, which I have 
entirely forgotten ; high Irish accent; clean-dirty face wrinkled 
into stereotype, of smile or of stoical frown, you couldn't say 
whicli : that was one of the ancient Irishmen ; who perhaps 
had a wife there ? The other, a more florid man, with face 
not only clean but clean-looking, and experiences somewhat 
similar ; a truly polite man in the Irish style : he took me 
home in his car. Sir Duncan had handed me a general mis- 
sive to the police-stations — " Be serviceable if you ever can, to 
this traveller" — which did avail me once. At home lies Ken- 
nedy's letter enjoining me to accept the Lord-lieutenant's din- 
ner, whither he too is going ; which I have already refused I 
What to do to-morrow night? Duffy is to be off to Kilkenny ; 
to lodge with " Dr. Cane, the Mayor," who invites me too 
(Duffy, on the road to O'Hagan's breakfast, showed me that), 
which I accept. 

Saturday, 1th July. — Wet morning; wait for Kennedy's 
promised car — to breakfast in the Zoological Gardens. Smok- 
ing at the door, buy a newspaper, old hawker pockets my 
groat, then comes back saying, " Yer Hanar has given me by 
mistake a threepenny." Old knave, 1 gave him back his news- 
paper, ran up-stairs for a pennv — discover that the threepenny 
has a hole drilled in it, that it is his — and that I am done ! He 
is off when I come down — Petrie under an umbrella, but no 
Kennedy still. We call a car, we two; I give him my "Note 
to Chambers Walker, Barrister," whom he knows, who will 
take me up at Sligo, when he (P.), will join us, and we shall be 
happy. Well ; we shall see. Muddy street, I'ain about done. 
Car-boy, coming over one of the bridges, drives against the 
side of our car ; seemed to me to see clearly for some instants 
that he must do such a thing, but to feel all the while that it 
would be so convenient to him if he didn't — a reckless humor, 
ignoring of the inevitable, which I saw often enough in Ire- 
land. Even the mild Petrie swore, and brandished his umbrella. 
" How could I help it ? Could I stop, and I going so rapid !" 
At the gate of Zoological, which is in Phoenix Park, were Han- 
cock, Ball of the Museum, another Ball of the Poor-law,^ Cooke, 
Taylor (for the last time, poor soul !), and others strolling un- 
der the wet boscage ; breakfast now got served in a dim, very 
damp kind of place (like some small rotunda, for limited pub- 
lic meetings) — unpleasant enough wholly ; and we got ont into 
the gardens, and walked smoking, with freer talk (of mine 
mainly) good for little. Animals, etc. — public subscription 
scanty — government helps : adieu to it. In Kennedy's car to 
Sackville Street; Poor-law Ball and a whole set of us; pause 
'at Sackville Street, part go on, part will take me to Royal Irish 
Academy, after I have got my letters of this morning's post. 
With Hancock I settle that Hiitton this night shall lodge me 
at Howth ; that he and Ingram shall escort me out thither, 
when I will bathe. Nerves and health — ach Gott! be silent of 
them ! 

Royal Irish Academy really has an interesting museum : 
Petrie does the honors with enthusiasm. Big old iron cross 
(smith's name on it in Irish, and date about 1100 or so; in- 
fjonious old smith, really) ; Second Book of Clogher (tremen- 
dously old, said Petrie), torques, copper razor, porridge-pots, 
bog butter (tastes like wax), bog cheese (didn't taste that, or 
even see) ; stone mallets (with cattle-bones copious where they 
are found — " old savage fcasting-places ") : really an interest- 
ing museum, for everything has a certain authenticity, as well 

^ Mr. John Ball, since M.P. and President of the Alpine Club. 



KEMINISCENCES OF MY IRTSII JOURNEY. 



II 



as national or other significance, too often wanting in such 
places. Next to Petrie, my most assiduous expositor was the 
secretary, whom I had seen at Stokes's ; a nuito, hut who spoke 
now, and civilly and to the purpose. Bustle, hustle. Evory 
Kennedy and others making up a route for me in the library 
room ; at length, in a kind of paroxysm, I bid adieu to them 
all, and get away— to the hotel to pack and settle. 

Larcom next comes : for an hour and a half in Board of 
Works with him. Sir ^V. Petty's old survey of Irish lands (in 
another office from L.'s) ; Larconi's new one — very ingenious; 
colored map, with dots, figures referring you to tables, where is 
a complete account of all estates, with their pauperisms, liabili- 
ties, rents, resources: for behoof of the Poor-law Commission- 
ers and their " electoral divisions ;'' a really meritorious and, as 
I fancy, most valuable work. Kirwan, a western squire, acci- 
dentally there; astonished at me, poor fellow, but does not hate 
me — invites me even. Larcom to hotel door with mo : adieu ! 
adieu ! To the hotel people too, who have done all things zeal- 
ously for me, and even schemed me out a route for the morrow 
ijoronr/, as it proved, alas!), I bid affecting adieus; and IngTam 
and llancock bowl me off to the Howth Kailway. Second class, 
say they, but gentlemen, though crowded: Dublin cockneys on 
a Saturday. 

The llutton house that evening, amid " Soeinian," really well- 
conditioned people : much should not be said of it. Hospitali- 
■ ty's self : tall silent-looking Father Hutton (for they live at Bally- 
doyle, this side of Howth) meets me with "hopes," etc., at the 
station there : car is to follow us to Howth, where I am to bathe, 
whither we now roll on. Bathe ; bad bathing-ground, tide be- 
ing out; wound heel in the stones (slippers iverc in the bathing- 
machine, but people didiit tell me). Cornish pilchard-sloops fish- 
ing here ; dirty village ; big old abbey overgrown with thistles, 
nettles, burdocks, and the extremity of squalor, to which we get 
access through dark cabins by the back u'lndows — leaving a few 
coppers amid hallelujahs of thanks. Car ; get wrapped, and drive 
to Lord Howth's gate : admittance there, to those of us on foot, 
not without difficulty ; beautiful avenue, beautiful still house 
looking out over the still sea at eventide ; among the beautiful- 
lest places I ever saw. Lord Howth a racer, away now, with all 
his turf -equipments ; Cornish people obliged to come and fish 
his bay — his mainly for five hundred years back, I believe. Call 
in by a Cousin Hutton (poor George Parley's class-fellow, a bar- 
rister, 1 afterwards find), who is to go with us ; twilight getting 
darker and darker ; I still without dinner and growing cold, re- 
duced to tobacco merely ! Arrive at last ; succedaneum for din- 
ner is readily provided, consumed along with coffee. Night 
passes, not intolerabl}', though silence for me was none ; alas, on 
reflecting, I had not come there for silence ! Cousin Hutton and 
Ingram off; a clever, indignant kind of little fellow the latter. 
Mrs. Hutton, big black eyes struffr/lhu/ to be in earnest ; four 
young ladies sewing — schone Kinder, truly. At last do get to 
bed ; sleep sound till six, bemoaned b}' the everlasting main. 
" No train (Sunday) at the hour given by Imperial Hotel peo- 
ple," 50 it appears ! The good Huttons have decided to send 
me by their carriage. Excellent people. Poor little streetkin of 
Ballydoyle fronting a wide waste of sea-sands (fisher people, I 
suppose) : peace and good be with you ! 

Sunday, 8th July. — Escorted by Hancock and young Hut- 
ton, am set down at Imperial Hotel, and thence my assiduous 
familiar brings out luggage, in a car to Kildrire Railway Station 
(in the extreme west — King's or Temple Bridge, do they call 
it .') ; three-quarters of an hour too soon ; rather wearisome the 
waiting. Fields all about have a weedy look, ditches rather 
dirty ; houses in view, extensive some of them, have a patched, 
dilapidated air. Lirac-pointing on roofs (as I gradually foujnd) 
is uncommonly frequent in Ireland ; ditto whitewashing to 
cover a multitude of sins: gray time-worn look in conse- 
quence. Lime is everywhere abundant in Ireland ; few bogs 
themselves but are close in the neighborhood of lime. 

Start at last : second class, but not quite gentlemen this time ; 
plenty of room, however. Irish traveller alone in my compart- 
ment ; big Aor.se-faced elderly ; not a bad fellow (a Wexforder f) 
-for Limerick, I suppose. Two Irish yenls (if not gentlemen) 



in the next compartment (for we were all visible to one an- 
other) ; mixed rusticity or cockneyity, not remembered, in the 
other. Gents had both of them their tickets stuck in hat-band ; 
good, and often seen since in Scotland and there : talked to one 
another, loud, but empty. First gent beaming black animal 
eyes, florid, ostentatious, voracious -looking — a sensual gent; 
neighbor had his back towards me, and he is lost : both went 
out awhile before me. Kildare station between twelve and one 
(I think) : indifferent porterage ; country with hay and crops, 
in spite of occasional bogs, had been good; waving champaign 
with Wicklow hills in the distance; railway well enough, 
though sometimes at stations or the like some little thing was 
wrong; letter of the inscription knocked off, or the like. This, 
then, is Kildare; but, alas! I nowhere see the city; above all, 
sec no Peter Fitzgerald, whom I expected here to receive me. 
In the open space, which lies behind the station, got a view of 
Kildare — round-tower, black and high, with old ruin of cathe- 
dral, on a height half a mile off ; poor enough " city," to all 
appearance ! Ask for St. Bridget's " Fire Tower-house " that 
once was ; nobody knows it ; one young fellow pretends (and 
only pretends, I think) to know it. Two gentlemen, fat fel- 
lows, out of the train seemingly had seen the label on my lug- 
gage ; rush round to ask me eagerly, " Are you Mr. Thomas 
Carloil ?" I thought they had been Fitzgerald, and joyfully 
answered and inquired : alas, no ! they were Mr. Something 
else altogether, and had to roll away again next instant. See- 
ing no Fitzgerald, I had to bargain with a carman (1 think 
there was but one), and roll away towards Halverstown — up a 
steepish narrow road to Kildare first. 

Kildare, as I entered it, looked worse and worse : one of the 
wretchedest wild villages I ever saw ; and full of ragged beg- 
gars this day (Sunday) — exotic altogether, " like a village in 
Dahomey;" man and Church both. Knots of worshipping 
people hung about the streets, and everywhere round them 
hovered a harpy-swarm of clamorous mendicants — men, wom- 
en, children : a village winr/ed, as if a flight of harpies had 
alighted in it ! In Dublin I had seen winged groups, but not 
7nuch worse than some Irish groups in London that year : here 
for the first time was " Irish beggary " itself ! From the centre 
or top of the village I was speeding through, when the cathe- 
dral and round-tower disclose, or, properly, had disclosed, them- 
selves on my right. I turn a little to survey them ; and here 
Fitzgerald and lady, hospitable pair, turn up and make them- 
selves known to me. A la bonne hettre. 

Beggars, beggars. AValk through the wretched streets ; nun- 
neries here, big chapel here ; my hosts are Catholics. I went 
smoking in their carriage till they make a call ; won't give 
beggars anything, who depart, all but two, young fellows, cow- 
ering nearly naked on opposite sides of me, twenty 3'ards off : 
"Take this groat and divide it between you!" Explosion of 
thanks; e.reunt round the corner. Re-enter one: " Ach, yer 
honor! He won't give me the twopence." — "Then why don't 
you lick hini, you blockhead, till he either die or give it you ?" 
Two citizens within hearing burst into a laugh. Home to Hal- 
verstown ; pleasant, rough cultivated country; ragged hedges, 
fertile weedy fields ; one good farmstead or two. Mrs. Purcell 
welcomes us with genial smiles. 

Monday, 9th July, 1849. — Went from Halverstown to Glen- 
dalough ; wonderful passage, especially after Ilolywood, a deso- 
late hamlet among the hills. Scarecrow figures all busy among 
their peats, ragged all ; old straw-hats, old gray loose coats in 
tatters, vernacular aspect all. Horse unwilling to perform up- 
hill, at length downhill too ; we mostly walk. Young shep- 
herd, very young gossoon (had been herding with somebody 
for no wages), was now sent home to "the Churches," where 
he had a brother (minor) and sister left; fibbed to me (as I 
found in the begging line), otherwise good and pitiable; I 
made him mount downhill. Resemblance to Galloway, in the 
hills, or to the pass beyond Dalveen ; hills all black and boggy, 
some very craggy too ; cattle kyloes, sheep mongrels ; wild 
stony huts ; patches of corn few yards in area. [Woman near 
Kilcullen milking a goat in the morning ; goats frequent enough 
here, pick living in the ditches.] Wicklow Gap; lead-mines; 



12 



KEMINISCENCES OF MV HUSH JOURNEY. 



stone on the road. Guide (a sulky, stupid creature) drives 
over it eyes open. Like luiicli here, like potato-culture. Cot- 
tao-es mostly cabins to the right hand under the road, and more 
frequent all the way down. Some mine-works (water-wheel 
gohui), many mine shafts all the way down. At bottom inn, 
shop, swift river, steps, beggars, churclies ; churchyard, wreck 
of qray antiquity grown black ; round - tower ; " cathedral," 
small church with arch roof still entire, and little round belfry 
(? windows in it) at one end. Third church there ; then lower 
and upper lake opening. Strait cul-de-sac of a glen, a spoke 
(or radius) making an angle with Wicklow Gap Glen : fit pot 
among the black mountains for St. Kevin to macerate himself 
in. Scarecrow boatman ; big mouth, rags, hunger and good- 
humor; has his " chance" (of this best with strangers) by way 
of wages. Woman squirrel clambering on the rocks to show 
St. Kevin's Bed, which needed no " showing" at all ; husband 
had deserted her, children all dead in workhouse but one; 
shed under a elili; food as the ravens. New carman, rapid, 
good-hnmored, and loquacious. Miner hurt among the hills ; 
man galloping for doctor and priest ; howl of woman's lamenta- 
tion heard among the twilight mountains, very miserable to 
hear. No whiskey at Trainer's ; handsome gift of milk by 
pretty daughter brought sixpence all the same. Home about 
ten ; expense enormous, 30s. or more, to me. 

Tuesday, \Oth July. — Love, the Scotch farmer; excellent 
farming ; gentleman (Bnrrowes) that wouldn't allow draining. 
Eight hundred people took the common ; priest had petitioned 
Pee! ten years ago, but took no notice ; peasant vagrants did, 
and here their cabins and grottos all are. Fitz's brother (a 
useful good servant) has a cabin and field there, with wife in 
it; good ground if it were drained. All commons have been 
settled that way ; once they were put away from, and the 
ditches levelled twice (so said our first carman, a fliie active 
lad) ; the third time it held, and so they stay. O'Connor (Mrs. 
Purcell's brother) a smart dandyish landlord, complained dread- 
fully of these " commoners," now mostly paupers ; nobody's 
property once, now his (to fen). All creatures. Love among 
the rest, cling to the potato, as the one hope or possibility they 
have or ever dream of ; look upon the chance of failure as our 
sulky did upon the stone, " perhaps I'll get over it.' In the 
afternoon Curragh of Kildare, best of race-courses ; a sea of 
beautiful green land, with fine cropped furze on it here and 
there ; a fine race-stand (like the best parish church) at one end, 
saddling-house, etc. ; racing apparatus enough ; and work for 
about ten thousand people if they were set to it instead of left 
to beg (circle of three miles, four thousand acres, look ?) New- 
bridge village and big barrack ; LiSey both at KilcuUen and it. 
Monastery, Mrs. P. saluted priest ; people all lounging ; village 
idle, silent ; many houses down. Railway, whirl of dust, smoke 
and screaming uproar; past Kildare again, past Athy (A-thiyh), 
old walls, now a village ; Wexford hills on this hand, Q.'s 
County hills on that : good green wavy country alternating 
with detestable bogs to Carlow ; saw into the gray old Imngry- 
looking stones as we whirled past in the evening sun. Railway 
station, broken windows there (done by mischievous boys) ; 
letters knocked off, etc., now and then all the way from Dublin. 
Car at Bagnalstown ; eloquent beggar — "More power to you 
wherever you go ! The Lord Almighty preserve your honor 
from all sickness and hurt and the dangers of the year!" etc., etc. 
Never saw such begging in this world ; often get into a rage at it. 
On to Kilkenny (overthe Barrow, etc.) ; noisy, vulgar fellow, talks, 
seems to know me. Castle Inn door; Dr. Cane's, where I now 
am [writing in dressing-gown], seven a.m., not having slept ; 
morning the flower of summer; town old, decayed, and gray. 

Wednesday, 11th July. — [Let me see what I can now, look- 
ing back, string together of Dublin reminiscences.] 

Dublin, Wednesday, 4th July. — Car and letters ; Stokes, Sir 
D. MacGregor — coming home by Larcom (I forget who else) ; 
and as 1 was stepping out. Dr. E. Kennedy. Off, finally, with 
him to dine; home with Snuffy Taylor in K.'s car. The K. 
sisters, etc. [Poor Taylor is since dead of cholera ! (Oct. 2.)] 



Thursday, bth July. — Breakfast in " Imperial;" what next? 
[Macdonnel came ; that day ?] Duffy, by appointment, to 
whom I had given my letters. Stokes in the evening. Dr. 
Todd, Petrie, Burton, etc., etc. (Something forgotten ? Sir P. 
Crampton and Castle ; no sleep that night.) 

Friday, 0th. — Lord Clarendon's hciduc ; in bath. I break- 
fast with O'Uagan, Murray of Maynooth, Hancock, Ingram, and 
the dreary fanatical logician. To College, to Museum ; Dr. 
Swift. Macdonnel's School of Glasneven ; Sir D. McG.'s din- 
ner ; Larcom, among others, there. 

Saturday, 1th. — Zoological Society, breakfast ; Irish Acad- 
emy, really curious. Howth and the Huttons in the evening. 
Hancock, Ingram, other Hutton (poor Darley's), old Mrs. H. 
Off next morning in their carriage ; to " King's Bridge," Dub- 
lin ; then Kildare with its cathedral, beggars, and strange old- 
world aspect ; like a village in Dahomey. 

[Mem. in pencil. — To leave Kilkenny this morning. Note 
when I arrive at the new quarter.] 

Let me note henceforth more diligently ; and now shave. 
Alas! there is no more "noting" at all; and I must now es- 
cape it to gather out of memory and letters, the best I can ! 
2d Oct. 1849. 

[I did not look on this side while putting down any of the 
foregoing ; had quite forgotten this, or didn't know clearly I 
ever had such a thing. 7th Oct. {finished).] 

Addenda (7th Oct.) to the two foregoing entries. Hideous 
crowds of beggars at Glendalough — offering guideship, etc. 
No guide needed. Little black-eyed boy, beautiful orphan 
beggar, forces himself on us at last ; ditto gray-eyed little girl, 
wit;h fish her uncle had caught. Scarecrow boatman, his clothes 
or rags hung on him like tapestry ; when the wind blew he 
expanded like a tulip ; first of many such conditions of dress. 
"King O'Toole's tomb." "Tim Byrne" (Burn they pro- 
nounced), spoken to, he the one whole-coated farmer of the 
place; many Byrnes hereabouts. Could not make out the 
meaning or origin of Glendalough ; at last found St. Kevin 
(natural in St. K.) to be the central fact; the "Kings" O'Toole, 
O'Byrne, etc., etc., had dedicated chapels to him, bequeathing 
their own bodies to be buried there, as unspeakably advan- 
tageous for them ; straight road to heaven for them perhaps. 
Many burials still here ; tombstones, all of mica slate, slice off 
into obliteration within the century. One arch (there still re- 
mains another) of entrance to " cathedral " had fallen last year 
(or year before ?). F^ount, and miracles in " Patron-time ;" 
" Patterun " is Kevin himself : " St. Kevin's be your bed !" 
Brought heath and ivy from Glendalough; grimmest spot in 
my memory. 

Halverstown, a quiet original little country-seat ; beautiful in 
the summer greenness, and all wearing an exotic look; ^^ Irish 
Maecenas " kind of air. Purcell, a notable Irishman, had run 
coaches; made s.farm often at his coach station ; this was one. 
Mass-chapel in it (priest didn't appear) ; galleries, summer hall ; 
dining-room lighted with glass dome ; number of tolerable pict- 
ures ; place added to gradually ; very good ; my room excel- 
lent. Greenhouse, pretty shrubbery with " big stone" in it (Ed*"' 
F^itz''*) ; trees round ; children had a little coach with goats 
harnessed : good order reigning (or strenuously attempting to 
reign) everywhere. Kilcullcn (near by) has a round-tower: 
height where the rebels of '98 had a skirmish. Lord Water- 
ford's shooting-lodge at "Trainers" (on the road to Glenda- 
lough), miserable bare place. Remember something of Kilcullcn 
town itself, through which the kind Mrs. Purcell drove me that 
afternoon, as well as over Curragh, etc., to station at Kildare. 

Kildare Railway; big blockhead sitting with his dirty feet 
on seat opposite, not stirring them for me, who wanted to sit 
there : " One thing we're all agreed on," said he, " we're ver)' 
ill governed ; Whig, Tory, Radical, Repealer, all admit we're 
very ill governed !" I thought to myself, " Yes, indeed : you 
govern yourself. He that would govern you well would prob- 
ably surprise you much, my friend — laying a hearty horsewhip 
over that back of yours." " J^o smoking allowed ;" passengers 
had erased the " No." Coarse young man entering, took out i 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IIIISU JOURNEY. 



13 



liis jiipc and smoked without apology. Second class; went no 
more in that. Carlow, " Hungry Street :" reineniber it still 
well and tlie few human figures stalking about in it; red, dnsty- 
looking evening, to us (in rail) dusty and windy. Of Bagnals- 
town saw nothing but station (railway is still in progress) and 
some streak of distant housetops, behind (westward of) that; 
and one little inn at the extremity where our car halted and 
the beggars were. Dust_y, dusky evening to Kilkenny. Lord 
Clifden's property; racer, has a horse called "Justice to Ire- 
land" (said my vulgar friend); Kilkenny long feeble street of 
suburb ; sinks hollow near the Castle ; bridge and river there ; 
then rapidly up is inn. Car to Dr. Cane's after delay : 
O'Shauglmessy and the other two Poor-law Inspectors at din- 
ner there : still waiting (8-^ or 9 p.m.), Duffy, Cane, and Mrs. C. ; 
warm welcome; queer old house; my foot a little sprained 
(from lialverstown and Love's potato field — didn't trouble me 
above another day) ; Dr. C. bandaged it ; but my toy was very 
cold and bad. Talking difficult ; no good of the O'Shaugh- 
nessys, no good of anything till I got away to bed. YEnd of 
addenda.^ 

Wednesday, nth Jii/i/. — Wake early ; sound of jackdaws; 
curious old room, two windows to street, one behind ; tops of 
all come down {not bottoms up, of all) ; plentiful thorough 
draught : look out over the gray, old, dilapidated town ; smoke; 
to bed again, but sleep returns not. O'Shauglmessy (after let- 
ters written, etc.) takes us out in Cane's carriage to look over 
Lis poorhouses. Had seen the "market-morning" before; 
crowd of people under the pillars; eggs, lean fowls, and other 
small-trash. Cobblers, three or four, working on the street. 
Letter to Jane (to mother next day; still here) — on a very 
cui'ious kind of ".table" (a hydrasting cylinder, in fact), the 
only one I had convenient ! O'Sliaughnessy's subsidiary poor- 
house (old brewhouse, I think), workhouse being filled to burst- 
ing ; with some eight thousand (?) paupers in all. Many wom- 
en here; carding cotton, knitting, spinning, etc., etc.; place 
and they very clean ; " but one ca«," bad enough 1 In other 
Irish workhouses saw the like, but nowhere ever so well. Big 
church, or cathedral, of blue stones, limcstonij in appearance, 
a-building near this spot. Buttermilk pails (in this subsidiary 
poorhouse, as in all over Ireland) ; tasted from one ; not bad 
in hot day. Eheu ! — omitted other subsidiary poorhouses (I 
think) ; walked towards original workhouse with its three thou- 
sand ; towards cathedral, round-tower, etc., first ; detestable 
lagoon evaporating, with houses and dusty streets round it ; 
can't get at it to drain I Round-tower has wooden ladder to 
top ; sit there, very high ; view hungry-looking, parched, bare, 
Sahara-looking. Cathedral closes, empty, silent, and welcome ; 
cathedral seen as duty ; old Council-house (of Kilkenny Coun- 
cil, in 1642)' omitted by oversight; in cathedral some monu- 
ments, not memorable to me; one (of 1049 time), a councillor's, 
bad been erased. Day dreadfully hot ; get away to workhouse, 
where Duiiy leaves me. 

Workhouse ; huge chaos, ordered " as one could ;" O'S., poor 
light little Corker (he is from Cork, and a really active crea- 
ture), proved to be the best of all the " orderers " I saw in Ire- 
land in this office ; but his establishment, the first 1 had ever 
seen, quite shocked me. Huge arrangements for eating, bak- 
ing, stacks of Indian-meal stirabout ; one or two thousand great 
hulks of men lying piled up within brick walls, in such a coun- 
try, in such a day ! Did a greater violence to the law of nature 
ever before present itself to sight, if one had an eye to see it? 
Schools, for girls, rather goodish ; for boys, clearly bad; for- 
ward, impudent routine ; — scholar, one boy, with strong Irish 
physiognomy — getting bred to be an impudent, superficial pre- 
tender. So ; or else sit altogether stagnant, and, so far as you 
can, rot. Hospital : haggard ghastliness of some looks — liter- 
ally, their eyes grown "colorless" (as Mahomet describes the 
horror of the Day of Judgment). " Take me home !" one half- 
mad was urging ; a deaf man ; ghastly flattery of us by anoth- 
er (his were the eyes): ah me! Boys drilling, men still piled 
within their walls ; no hope but of stirabout ; swine's meat, 

' Meeting-place of the Confederation of Kilkenny. 



swine's destiny (I gradually saw) : right glad to get away. Idle 
people, on road to castle ; sitting on street curbstones, etc. ; 
numerous in the summer afternoon ; idle old city ; can't vvell 
think how they live. Castle "superb" enough, but no heart 
for it; no portraits that I care about — not even a certain like- 
ness of the Duke James, the Great of Ormond ; ^«// my half- 
crown ; won't write in the album ; home dead-tired ; and O'S. 
is to come and dine. Of dinner little remeuiberable at all. 
Strange dialect of Mrs. Dr. Cane, a Wicklow lady ; made a 
canvas case for my writing-case this day, good hostess! came 
of Scotch peo[)lc ; rings with snch a lilt in speaking as is unex- 
ampled hitherto ; all is i's, ois, etc. ; excellent mother and wife, 
so far as heart goes, "sure-ly." Snuffy editors, low-bred, but 
not without energy, once "all for repale," now out of that; have 
little or no memory of what they said or did. Dr. Cane him- 
self, lately in prison for " repale," now free and mayor again, 
is reallv a person of superior worth. Tall, straight, heavy man, 
with gray eyes and smallish globular black head; deep bass 
voice, with which he speaks slowly, solemnly, as if he were 
preaching. Irish (moral) Grandison — touch of that in him; 
sympathy with all that is good and manly, however, and con- 
tinual effort towards that. Likes me, is hospitably kind to me, 
and I am grateful to him. L'^p-stairs about eight o'clock (to 
smoke, I think) ; lie down on rough ottoman at bed's end for 
five minutes ; fall dead-asleep, and Duffy wakes me at one 
o'clock! We are to go to-morrow morning towards Water- 
ford. I slept again, till towards six, and then wrote to my 
mother; as well as looked into "Commercial Reading-rooms," 
etc., opposite me in the ancient narrow street. Jackdaws and 
lime-pointed old slate roofs were my prospect otherwise fore 
and aft. Crown of the year now in regard to heat. 

Thursday, 12th July. — Other stranger (snuffy editor now?) 
to breakfast, admires Gray's scheme — Edin. Gray, a projector 
of money schemes — to give all the world money at will; "do 
nicely for Ireland, indeed," thought I, or said. Off with Duffy, 
in Dr.'s chariot, to railway station, about 10^ a.m. First-class 
rail; silent, excellent; ends at Thomastown in about an hdur. 
Private car there ; shady little street, hot, close little inn, while 
they are packing luggage. Towards Waterford, railway men 
again breaking ground, groups of them visible tw ice. Raw- 
boned peasant spoken to, striding with us up a hill ; sadly otT 
since potatoes went and evictions came ; struggling to do better. 
Jerpoint Abbey; \mgc, distressing mass of ruins; huts leaning 
on the back of it : to me nothing noble at all, or less than 
nothing of dilettanteism must join with it. Rest of the road 
s\ngn]av\y forgotten ; Duffy keeping me so busy at talk, I sup- 
pose ! Squalid hamlets, ditto cottages by the wayside, with 
their lean goats and vermin, I have forgotten the details of 
them ; at present tbcy (try to) re-emerge big and vague — dim, 
worthless. " Ballyhack ;" but I suppose it was " Mullinavat," 
where our man drew up ; tried for buttermilk at the little idle 
shop in the little idle village — unattainable. " Carrickshock " 
farm on the ivest, fronting us (hedges or bushy ground about a 
mile off), where "eighteen police," seizing for tithes, were set 
upon and all killed some eighteen or more years ago. And 
next? Vacancy; not even our talk remembered in the least; 
probably of questions which I had to answer. Duffy hummed 
continually, with words, but without tune, whenever I ceased 
speaking ; my own mood was one of silent, stony uneasiness. 
Saw the Suir coming? my face to the west; suppose we must 
have gone by "the new road from Mullinavat;" remember, 
partly broken (Duffy hoped from " repale insurrection ;" alas, 
it was from bad masonry !) ; the road, too, was broad and not 
very hilly; at length, under steep cliffs, we come to the end nf 
Waterford long wooden bridge ; rattle over to the bright trim- 
looking long quay with its high substantial row of houses on 
the other side, rattle along the same, and at last are shoved out, 
very dusty and dim, at Commercial Hotel, whei'e it, not far 
from ending, is intersected by a broad street at right angles: 
street, as I afterwards foimd, where " Meagher" (the now con- 
vict) lived, and where his father still lives. [Mem. On the Friday 
morning at Dublin I had seen a big flaring lithograph portrait 
(whose I didn't know, like Lockhart somewhat) w ith the people 



14 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



iiiurniuring sympathy over it, in a shop-window near the end 
of Saekvillc Street : it was now removed ; must have been M.'s.] 
This (Thursday) afternoon was it now that I argued with Duffy 
about Smith O'Brien — I infinitely vilipending, he hotly eulo- 
gizing, the said Smith ? 

At Waterford it was Assize time and the Commercial Hotel 
was rather in an encumbered state ; two small bedrooms with- 
out fireplaces, in third floor ; mine looks out seaward, over 
clean courts, house-roofs, and, I think, sees a bit of country, 
perhaps even of sea. Letters; one from Lord Stuart de Decies 
(volunteer through Poor-law Ball), to whom I write that I 
will come, and enclosing Lord Monteagle's letter. At dinner 
(excellent sole, raises question of London soles ; they are 
VVaterford fish, but deteriorated by the transfer). Lord 
Carew's servant is here, Mr. Currey, Duke of Devonshire's 
agent from Lismore, is here ; send my letters to them. Brief 
interview with Lord Carcw and son on the morrow here, 
nothing more ; much negotiation with Mr. Currey, eager to do 
the honors to me, in which enterprise ho persisted and suc- 
ceeded. Agent, kind of trading-man, to whom I had a letter 
from the Fitzgeralds : not at home ; leave it. Man conies 
after ten, talks civilly, lamentingly ; send him off. A Quaker, 
one of Todhunter's list, Strangman, I think, after much in- 
quiry, " doesn't now live in town." (Quaker Todhunter of 
Dublin had, by Dr. Kennedy's request, sent me to Kilkenny a 
list of Quakers in all the principal towns ; did see one of them 
at Limerick). Duffy's Father Something was also not at 
home : so we returned to the hotel for tea. Father Some- 
othcr-thing, a silly, flunctuating, free-spoken priest, joined us in 
that meal ; we to breakfast with him to-morrow. Smoke cigar 
along the quay — the southernmost part of it beyond our 
liotel ; talk with shopkeeper kind of man there, leaning over 
the balustrade looking at the few ships and boats ; Water- 
ford's commerce ruined — this was the sum of all ray inquiries 
— two thousand hands acquainted with curing bacon had left 
the place, bacon (owing to potato-failure) having ended. But- 
ter ditto, cattle ditto ; all has ended " for the time." Good 
many warehouses, three in one place on the <)uay you may now 
see shut. Walk late up to the Post-office ; big watchman, with 
grappling - hook for drunk men, patrolling the dock quay: 
" Accidents may happen, sir !" Wretched state of my poor 
clay carcass at that time. Currey has had a message for me ; 
talk with him hour and more after my return. Young, smart, 
clever-looking man, of lawyer and wholly English dialect and 
aspect ; won^t let me pass without his hospitalities, though now 
I need them not. Bed at last, but no great shakes of a sleep. 

Friday, 13th July. — Breakfast with the Father Something; 
steepish street far back in the city ; other younger Father with 
him : clever man this, black-eyed fiorid man of thirty, not ill- 
informed, and appears to have an clement of real zeal in him, 
which is rare among these people. Priest's breakfast and 
equipment nothing special ; that of a poor schoolmaster or the 
like, living in lodgings with a rude old woman and her niece or 
daughter ; talk also similar — putting Irish for Scotch, the 
thing already known to me. To see some charitable Catholic 
schools ; far off, day hot, I getting ill : Irish monk (pallid, tall, 
dull-looking Irishman of fifty) takes us hospitably ; forty or 
fifty boys, all Catholic, with good apparatus — these he silently 
woTi't set agoing for us (" holiday," or some such thing) ; we 
have to look at them with what apjsroval we can. To the 
hotel, 1 with younger priest ; totally sick and miserable when I 
arrive, take refuge up-stairs on three chairs and there lie, ob- 
stinate to speak to no man till our ear go off. Currey does 
see me, however ; settles at last — will do the impossible (though 
unnecessary), and not be satisfied without doing it. Car at last 
(after Lord Carew, etc.) ; in the hot afternoon still high we 
rattle forth into the dust. 

Dust, dust, wind is arear of us (or some (histy way it blows) 
on the car ; and there is no comfort but patience, distant view 
of green, and occasionally a cigar. The wind, dusty or not, 
refreshes, considerably cures my sick nerves, as it always does. 
Strait dusty places : goats chained together with straw rope. 
" Repale would be agreeable !" Scrubby ill-cultivated country ; 



Duffy talking much, that is, making mc talk. Hedges mostly 
oi yorse, not one of them will turn any kind of cattle: alas! I 
found that the universal rule in Ireland, not one fence in five 
hundred that will turn. Gorse they are almost all, and without 
attention j)aid : emblematic enough. Kilmacthomas, clear 
white village hanging on the steep declivity. Duffy dis- 
covered ; enthusiasm of all for him, even the (Galway) police- 
man. Driver privately whispers me " he would like to give a 
cheer for that gent." " Don't, it would do him no good." 
Other policeman drunk, not mischievous but babbling drunk; 
didn't see another in that or any such condition in all my 
travels. We were in the lower end of Kilmacthomas ; upwards 
it climbed the brae, to the rightward, with most decisive steep- 
ness : a poor small place, with houses or huts all limewashed, 
street torn up by rain-streams ; lives very bright with mc yet, 
as seen in the bright summer afternoon. Off again ; tow- 
ards Dungarvan ; the sun veiled from us, the wind rising 
when we arrive there, about five or six o'clock. " Shake Dun- 
garvan," ' an Irish proverb, means to make a splutter or loud 
demonstration of any kind. Embanked road by way of ap- 
proach ; mud of lagoon on each side, left-hand is seaward as 
you enter ; very bleak and windy just now. Car is shifted ; 
populace all out gazing at Duffy as if they would have stared 
through and through him : would I were at Dromana for one ; 
at Cappoquin first. This a poor one-horse car ; and our ac- 
commodation is not superb. Duffy and I on the south side ; 
had been on the north before. N.B. Absurd report about 
Shiel, M.P., before we reached Dungarvan (" £3,000,000 short 
in the mint, somebody's robbery ;" Duffy had heard it as a 
truth at Waterford too, and our driver was full of it) ; meetiny 
of the two brother cars, and loud banter of the drivers. These 
things, too, if they had any worth when recollected, I recollect. 
Cappoquin at last, in the thickening dusk, 8^ I suppose ; leave 
Duffy at the inn, and get a ear for Dromana, in a most dusty, 
stiffened, petrified, far from enviable condition. Dromana 
drawbridge (over some river tributary of the Blackwater), 
Dromana Park ; huge square gray house and deep solitude ; 
am admitted, received with real hospitality and a beautiful 
quiet politeness (though my Waterford letter has not been re- 
ceived) ; and, once entirely stripped, washed, and otherwise 
refreshed, commit myself to the new kindly element — pure ele- 
ment that surrounds me. Sleep — Oh, the beautiful big old 
English bed ! and bedroom big as ballroom, looking out on 
woody precipices that overhang the Blackwater ! Begirt with 
mere silence ! I slept, and again slept, a heavy sleep ; still re- 
membered with thankfulness. 

Saturday, Wlh July. — Beautiful, breezy, sunny morning; 
wide, waving wooded lawn, new-cropped of hay ; huge, square, 
old gray mansion hanging on the woody brow or (Drom, 
Drum) over the river with steps, paths, etc., cut in the steep ; 
grand silence everywhere ; huge empty hall like a cathedral 
when you entered ; all the family away but Lord Stuart and a 
step-daughter baroness, semi-German, and married to a German 
now fighting against the Hungarians (baroness zealous for him). 
The pleasantest morning and day of all my tour. Quiet, simple 
breakfast ; all in excellent order (tea hot, etc., as you find it 
rarely in a great house) ; my letter comes now, and we have a 
nice quiet hour or two, we three, over this and other things ; 
ride with Lord Stuart to gardens, through woods to village of 
Dromana ; clean slated hamlet with church, founded by prede- 
cessor (seventy or eighty years ago) for weaving. Ulster 
weavers have all ceased here ; posterity lives by country labor, 
reasonably well, you would say. This was the limit of our 
ride. All trim, rational, well ordered here ; Lord Stuart him- 
self good, quite P^nglish in style, and with the good-natured, 
candid-(/r« (/'//»// dialect (« la Twistleton) that reminds you of 
England. Talent enough too, and a sensibility to fun among 
other things ; man of fifty, smallish black eyes, full cheeks, 
expression of patience with capability of action, with the most 
perfect politeness at all points. Will drive me to Mount Mcl- 
leray " Monastery ;" does so ; off about one. Other side of 

' "Make Dungarvan shake." 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



15 



Cappoquin ; road wilder, raountino; towards Knockmeildown 
Mountains, which had made figure last night, which make a 
great figure, among the other tine objects, from Dromana 
Park ; arrive at Mclleray in an hour or so. 

Hooded monks, actually in brown, coarse woollen sacks, that 
reach to the knee, with funnel-shaped hood that can be thrown 
back ; Irish physiognomy in a new guise 1 Laborers working 
in the field at hay, etc.; country people they, I observe, ^jrest'rf- 
ed over by a monk. Entrance ; squalid hordes of beggars sit 
>¥aiting ; Irish accent from beneath the hood, as a "brother" 
admits us; learning the lordship's qtiality, he hastens ofE for 
" the prior," a tallisli, lean, not very prepossessing Irishman of 
forty, who conducts us thenceforth. Banished from Mount 
Meilleraye iu France, about 18.30, for quasi-political reasons, 
the first of these Irislimeu arrive penniless at Cork ; know not 
what to do : a Protestant Sir Something gives them " waste 
land," wild, craggy moor on this upland i if the Knockmcildowns ; 
charitable Catholics intervene, with other help ; they struggle, 
prosper, and are now as we see. Good bit of ground cleared, 
drained, and productive ; more in clear progress thereto ; big, 
simple square of buildings, etc. (chapel very grand, done by 
monks all the decorations), dormitory very large, wholly wooden 
and clean ; bakehouse, poor library, nasty tubs of cold stirabout 
(coarsest I ever saw) for beggars; silence; each monk, when 
bidden do anything, does it, folds hands over breast, and dis- 
appears with a large smile and a low bow ; curious enough to 
look upon, indeed ! Garden rather weedy, a few monks poking 
about in it ; work rather make-believe, 1 feared ; offices in the 
rear ; extensive peat-stack, mill ; body of haymakers, one or two 
young monks actually makiny hay. Rise at 2 a.m. to their de- 
votions ; have really to go through a great deal of drill-exer- 
cise through the day, independently of work. One poor fellow 
in the library has been dabbling a bit in the elements of geom- 
etry — elemental, yet ingenious. " The other night lead spout 
has been torn off from our cowhouse there ; new thing, theft 
from M«." Excellent brown bread, milk and butter, is offered 
for viaticum ; Lord Stuart, I see, smuggles some gift of money ; 
and with blessings wc are rolled away again. The new "Mon- 
astery" must have accumulated several thousand pounds of 
property in these seventeen or more or fewer years, in spite of 
its continual charities to beggars ; but this itself, I take it, must 
be very much the result of public charity (Catholic Ireland 
much approving of them) ; and I confess the whole business 
had, lurking under it for me, at this year of grace, a certain 
dramatic character, as if they were " doing it." Inevitable at 
this year of grace, I fear ! Hard work I didn't see monks do- 
ing: except it were one young fellow who was actually forking 
hay ; food, glory, dim notion of getting to heaven, too, I sup- 
pose these are motive enough for a man of average Irish in- 
sight? The saddest fact I heard about these poor monks was 
that the prior had discovered some of them surveying the 
Youghal- and -Cappoquin steamer, watching its arrival, from 
their high moor, as the event of their day ; and had reprov- 
ingly taken away their telescope: ah me! Potato-failure had 
sadly marred them too ; they had sold their fine organ (a pious 
gift) lately, and even, as I heard, their " whole stock of poul- 
try " in the famine year. 

One Sir Shaw, fine Ayrshire man, an old Peninsula 

soldier. Lord S.'s agent here, to dinner with us; fine, hearty, 
hoary old soldier, rattles pleasantly away : " Napier used to 
say. If you would be a soldier, learn to sleep !" Few can do it : 
Napoleon could. Snatch sleep whenever and wherever there is 
a chance. About ten I had to tear myself up, and with real 
pathos snatch myself away from these excellent people. Their 
car waits for me in the dim summer night, an English driver ; 
and through Cappoquin I am hurried to Lismore, smoking and 
looking into the dark boscage, into the dark world. Bridge 
building at Cappoquin, old bridge at Lismore Castle ; steepish 
ascent, old gate-house, passage, silent court ; and at one of the 
comers (left-hand or river side), Currey, having done the im- 
possible — posted, namely, in bespoken relays of cars all the way 
from Waterford — is here some minutes ago to receive me ; 
Duke of Devonshire's impulse — strange enough — on me. 
Across the court, or through long silent passages to an excel- 



lent room and bed, fitted up as for persons of quality ; and 
there, bemurnmrcd by the Blackwater, quite happy had I nut 
been so dyspeptic incurable a creature, 1 once more dissolve in 
grateful sleep under the clouds and stars. 

Sunday, \5th July. — Bright, sunny morning again ; day too 
hot; and I, alas! internally too hot. Noble old Castle, all 
sumptuous, clean, dry, and utterly vacant (only a poor Irish 
housekeeper, old, lame, clean, loitering on the stairs, with an 
appetite for shillings) — all mine for a few hours; like a palace 
of the fairies. r)rivc towards the mountains ; to a schoolhouse 
to he developed into Agricultural school by " the Duke :" 
Currey, kind, active man, having his gig ready. Duke's prop- 
erty ends at the very peak of the very highest Knockmeildown, 
a cone that had been conspicuous to me these two days, ^^'ell- 
shadcd country, up tlie clearest of little rivers ; schoolhouse 
atop, very windy; two girls alone in the house. Currey salutes 
the people in Irish (which he has learned) as we drive down 
again ; meet many " coming from chapel " or hanging about 
tiie road ; a certain " Squire " Something is in talk with certain 
common people ; nods to Cy. We turn to the right when near 
Lismore ; get into the park of some anarchic squire (has been 
shot at, I think) ; bars and obstacles, high plantations dying 
for long want of the axe; ugliest of houses, with its back to us, 
or ugly posterior to us ; anarchy reigns within (I am told) as 
without. Down at last towards Blackwater side ; where C.'s 
messenger, that was to row us, slightly fails ; Currey, leaving 
horse, leaving message with somebody on the road, takes me 
through the fat rough meadows ; get into the boat, rows me 
himself (good man), I steering. Fat rough meadows, scraggy 
border of trees or woods, continuous for a mile or two ; mes- 
senger apjKars on bank, mildly rebuked and reinstructed ; otter 
bobs up, have never seen another ; fine enough river, most 
oh\\v\n\t^ passage thereon. We step out, through a notable de- 
cayed squire's mansion, now genteel farm ; find gig in messen- 
ger's hands on the road ; roll home ; dine, and get packed and 
mounted again ; over the moor to Youghal, the hospitable 
Currey still driving, still in all senses carrying me along. Much 
talk with him: about the unquestionable confusion of leases; 
unreasons, good efforts, or otherwise, of neighbor landlords ; 
general state of men and things hereabouts; on all which he 
talks well, courteously, wisely. "Old deer-park" (Duke's) on 
the height, bare enough of look ; somnolent Sunday hamlet, 
yet with people in Sunday clothes some of them ; somnolent 
bridge-keeper over muddy river, pleasautish road hithi'rto — 
mount now to the moor-top, and ragged barrenness, with many 
roofless huts, is the main characteristic ; wind rising to a proper 
pitch — Blackwater side very beautiful. Dromana, etc., seen 
over it. Squire's house hanging close with its lawnlet upon 
the edge of the high (seemed precipitous) river-bank ; fantastic- 
pretty in the sunny wind. Currey leaves letter there; meet 
Squiress and ladies walking in the grounds, Irish voices, pretty 
enough Irish ways of theirs. And so along, by deep woody 
dells and high declivities, wild, variegated, sometimes beautiful, 
sometimes very ugly road, emerge at last upon the final reach 
of the Blackwater ; a broad, smooth, now quite tidal expanse, 
and along the north shore of this by swift, level, often shady 
course, to Youghal — " Yawal," as they name it: a town memo- 
rable to my early heart — poor brother Alick's song of " Yoogal 
Harbor" still dwelling with, bringing whom now from beyond 
the ocean ! Sun has about sunk : gray wind is cold. Youghal 
seen sheltered under its steep high ground ; muddy, sooty, 
rather ugly look all has for such a tine natural scene. Long, 
flat, bare road at last, as if an embankment much of it. Halli- 
day's stake nets, as used in Solway Firth ; poor Ilalliday ! "Cap- 
tain Flash!" they sued him at law, put down his nets (he is now 
dead), sent him away, and directly took to the same mode of 
fishing, which still continues. Notable history of the "Bill for 
Deepening Youghal Harbor" too; unreason, contradiction of 
neighboring Sir This and Mr. That ; patience of good quiet 
Duke; renewed unreason and misfortune. Yl. Harbor lies ex- 
actly of its old depth to this hour. Duke has here borrowed 
£10,000 of government money to embank the marsh, and em- 
ploy Yl. poor in famine year; which still goes on : good speed 



16 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IKISU JOURNEY. 



to it! Duke of Devonshire, and those he represents, I find 
eminent as "good landlords" — according to the commonly ac- 
cepted scale of worth, thoy have been and are " good among 
the best." Bridge over Blackwater at Lismore ; general style 
of management; here, too, I found what was before visible, 
that tiie English absentee generally far surpasses the native 
resident as an owner of land ; and that all admit the fact in- 
deed., What "a scale of wortli," though, must it be! Dingy 
scattered houses along a dingy waste, hungry, main street full 
of idle Sunday crs; turn sharp to right up a lane close past a 
school founded by first Earl of Cork, past corner of " Sir Wal- 
ter Raleigh's house " (now a Quaker's), and in the cold dusty 
dusk we dismount in a little grassy court — court of " Youghal 
College" (a kind of religious foundation, nobody could well 
tell me what) ; where, better or worse, an ancient pair of do- 
mestics received the tired travellers, light fire, get tea for them ; 
and so, taking leave of Currey, who is to start at 'wo a.m. and 
do the impossible again to be at his grand-jury work in Water- 
ford, I mount to a big dim old room, the inner of two, and 
tumble into bed. Was there ever, for one thing, a more as- 
siduous host than this Mr. Currey ? He expected his wife to 
have met him here; she is absent with her children, bathing- 
quarters some seven miles off (Dungarvan Bay perhaps?), but, 
owing to the mad state of the posts hereabouts just now, has 
never got his letter : right hearty good-night to him. 

Monday, 16th July. — After two sleeps awoke to a bright 
day, in ray welcome seclusion here at the back of Youghal 
dingy town. Strange place, considerable park, with old rugged 
trees, with high old walls, with rough grass and a kind of walk 
kept gravelly through and round it ; leans up against the rap- 
idly rising ground ; roofs of the town and some quiet clean 
houses in the back street visible from the higher hillward part 
of the walk. What can be the use of such a place ? very mys- 
terious ; to me in my present humor very useful ; most still 
forenoon passed wholly there. Servant, gruff but good, is an 
old English soldier, wife an old Youghal woman, who is much 
taken up with " Methodist Missions" in Ireland, for one thing; 
will have me to subscribe ; I won't. Dim, half-dilapidated old 
house ; my big room, big windows that shove up and give 
egress into the park : still time, writing there ; but about noon 
(coach is to go about one or two) ; walk westward nearly the 
whole length of Ya'al ; dingy semi-savage population ; rough, 
fierce-faced, ragged, in the market-place (or quay), where the 
wares are of small mercantile value ; ballad singer there. 
"Clock-gate" before that; and washed old humble citizen 
guides me into this square space of quay or market (if it were 
anything but some huckstering rag-fair, with a few potatoes, 
etc., in it) ; Post-office " no stamps ;" home by the upper or 
northward range of lane, high on the hill-edge, looking quite 
down upon the main street, to which again I descend. Wooden 
bridge, seen hastily yesternight, I hardly recollect at all. Coach 
— fare one shilling, " Opposition being hot " — some thirty- 
three miles; get away at last amid a rough miscellany, all or 
most of them, however, to rear of me. Gruff servant (his son, 
I think, brought my luggage) asks, " Are you for Derbyshire 
now, sir?" thinking me bent straight for "the Duke." Crack, 
crack, through Clock-gate (clock standing, as I had found) ; 
westward, sight of sea and ships on left ; mount, inn ; fairly up 
out of dingy Youghal ; Cable Island rises clear on the left, 
amid clear sea, in the windy summer sunshine; and we are 
fairly whirling on towards. Brisk black-eyed driver often whips 
behind, ridiculously often, all the way. 

Killeigh ; poor village, brook at this end, remember little of 
it. Poor woman who had got up beside me takes to crying ; 
her son, driving her last time she was here, is now buried in 
that churchyard — "God's will:" she gradually quieted herself; 
" bad times for poor, etc. ;" yes, but could or would tell me 
almost nothing about the details. Weltering wet black bogs 
before Killeigh; and sea getting distant, with crops and scrags 
and bogs between us and it. Little memorable to Castle Mar- 
tyr : broad, trim little street of that. Lord Shannon's gate and 
park at west end. Ragged boys, brown as berries ; tattered 
people everywhere in quantity, but I had now grown used to 



them. " Middleton "— I really thought they called it ''Mill- 
town — remember its long broad street of good houses ; its 
stream or two streams at west extremity, with big mills; dis- 
tillery (I think) in the distance, now a subsidiary poorhouse, a 
frequent phenomenon iu these parts. Country not quite bare, 
otherwise scraggy, bushy, weedy, dusty, full enough of ragged 
people, not now memorable to me at all. Cork Harbor, a long 
irregular firth, indenting the land in all manner of irregularities 
for ten or twelve miles, now begins to show some of its lagoons 
and muddy creeks, not beautiful here ; various castles, etc., are 
on the left ; on the left lies or lay Cloyne (Bp. Berkeley's), but 
" we don't pass through it, sir." Evening is getting cloudy, 
coldish, windy ; carts met, some air of real trade ; alas ! if you 
look, it is mostly or all meal-sacks, Indian-corn sacks — poor- 
house trade. I didn't in all Ireland meet one big piled car- 
rier's cart, not to speak of carrier's wagon, such as we see here ! 
"Barry's Court," somebody names for me on the left; square 
old pile (Raleigh, in Desmond's war of 1580) ; remember 
" Foaty " also, which looked rather like a sentry-box in the 
wide tiat, now opening gray in the windy evening, with the 
muddy meanders of Cork Harbor labyrinthically indenting it. 
Cold, dusty, windy : steep height now on our left, clothed with 
luxuriant wood, nice citizens' boxes nestled there — miles of it 
(perhaps near three) ; looks very well ; and Cork itself, white- 
housed, through the twilight vapor, is now visible ahead. Long 
street of suburb ; goodish houses ; at last Cork itself. Lea 
Bridge sharp to left ; fine wide crowded street like a small 
Cork " Portland Place," with fine shops, etc. ; to left again a 
little of this. " Wo-hp !" — porter of Imperial Hotel is wait- 
ing; has heard of Duffy. I get letters, washing; mutton-chop 
for dinner ; young Englishmen — middies, as I gradually dis- 
cover—are rather loudly dining near me. There gradually din- 
ing in the wholcsomest way attainable, I read my letters (Duffy, 
out to dinner, not yet visible) ; and endeavor to enjoy, or, fail- 
ing that, to endure. Walk on the streets with cigar ; loud song 
of the blind beggar on Lea Bridge ; gave him a penny and 
stopped silently to listen : " Oah Kehristins, may the Lard pro- 
tec ye from the dangers av the night, and guide yer sowls, 
etc., etc. ; and may ye never know what it is forever dark, and 
have no eyes — and for Kehroist's sake, lave a penny for the 
blind that can never see again !" All this, or something simi- 
lar in expression, he chanted in a loud, deep voice, strange 
enough to hear for the first time in the streaming thoroughfare 
in the dusk. Rain slightly beginning now, I return; take to 
writing: near eleven o'clock — announces himself "Father 
O'Shea !" (who I thought had been dead) ; to my astonishment, 
enter a little gray-haired, intelligent-and-bred-looking man, with 
much gesticulation, boundless loyal welcome, red with dinner 
and some wine, engages that we are to meet to-morrow — and 
again with explosion of welcomes, goes his way. This Father 
O'Sea, some fifteen years ago, had been, with Emerson of 
America, one of the two sons of Adam who encouraged poor 
bookseller Eraser, and didn't discourage him, to go on with 
" Teufelsdrockh." I had often remembered him since; had 
not long before re-inquired his name, but understood somehow 
that he was dead — and now ! To bed, after brief good-night 
to Duffy ; and, for rattling of window (masses of pamphlets 
will not still it) cannot, till near five a.m., get to sleep at all. 

Tuesday, 17 th Jii^y. —" Seven o'clock, sir! seven o'clock, 
sir !" this I wove for some time into my deep dreams ; then 
had to awake to see a little bottle - brush - headed "Boots" 
with thimbleful of " warm water," who had marked me wrong 
" on his slate." Accursed " Boots !" — dismiss him, almost like 
to assassinate him ; but no sleep more ; a miserable day for 
health that ; especially unfit to walk (ah me !) round by the 
Post-office (I suppose) by streets and quays after breakfast. 
Shallow stream (tide out) with high walls, somewhere off the 
main river ; statue of George II. close by ; market-place, rather 
squalid, miscellaneous ; home and write till two, when Duffy 
with "Denny Lane" enters. Happily I had 7nissed all the 
forenoon's sights (schools, monasteries, etc) ; am to go down 
the river by steam, and dine with Lane and a company, to 
sleep too — but that was altered at last : fine brown Irish figure, 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



17 



Denny; distiller — cx-rcpaicv ; frank, hearty, honest air; like 
Alfred Tennyson a little; goes, and I write again till near four. 
Steamer then, and our company gathering amid the crowd on 
deck — obliged to talk to this and the other: much rather sit 
and look. Beantifnl white city, Cork, at the foot of its steep 
woody slope ; at the head of its indcniive narrow frith, cntting 
its way tlirongh tlie hollows, making hills into islands, for ten 
miles up or more. Behind Cork hilly country to sea, I sup- 
pose, but saw not. Sit on the paddle-box ; stony-eyed friendly- 
professing Ulster Irishman (ironmonger, I think, but connected 
with Cork newspaper) acting as " cicerone." Foaty, etc., visi- 
ble again ; an open frith-indented plain. Southwcstward (?) 
of the woody steep with its white country-houses; might be 
very beautiful, but is not yet. Down the fiith ; passage, ill- 
■whitewashed, weathered road ; before that villas, some " Con- 
vent" the principal edifice. I saw out somewhere after pas- 
sage ; Lane waiting there, no time for Cove now. I drive 
back with stony-eyed friend ; get, in some artificial walled es- 
tablishment for that end, a salt-water bath. On then to 
Denny's cottage ; which proves a small, very crowded place, 
hanging over the sea-water, looking across towai-ds Cove Island. 
Have to climb first (right indisposed for walking) ; kind Father 
O'Shea going through his Hours, or doing something devo- 
tional, looking out like a living statue in a garden for some 
minutes after I came in sight ; all priests' dutt/ at certain 
hours : devotions done, statue Shea becomes live Shea, and cor- 
dially greets me again. Other priest, proprietor of garden, fool- 
ish rather, climbs with us, soon goes; and happily we are in 
Denny's, and sit. 

Dinner hospitable, somewhat hugger-mugger; much too 
crowded ; old mother of Dy. Lane sat by me, next her Father 
O'Something (Sullivan, I discover in my letters). Shea's cur- 
ate, a Cork tvit, as the punch soon showed him ; opposite me 
was Father Shea, didactic, loud-spoken, courteous, good every 
way — a true gentleman and priest in the Irish style, my only 
good specimen of that. One Barry, editor of songs, of news- 
papers, next him ; Duffy and two, nay, three or four more, to 
left of me at the other end. O'SuUivan in yellow wig, man of 
fifty with brick complexion, with inextinguishable good-humor, 
caught at all straws to hang some light wit on them ; really 
did produce much shallow laughter (poor soul) from me as 
from others ; merry all ; worth seeing for once, this scene of 
" Irish life." Out after sunset, take a boat to Fort Carlisle, 
land at Cove; beautifullest still twilight: walk about Cove, 
which seems much larger than I expected. Duffy recognized; 
" Mr. Duffy there I" said some lad or girl, in the back or upper 
narrow street. " Blackthorn stick !" Phantasm in straw-hat 
and rags, amid a sm«ll group of inhabitants, all gone to black 
shadows at this hour, singing or acting some distraction, the 
burden of which was " Blackthorn stick !" Some Irish mod- 
ern Hercules who helps himself divinely out of all difficulties 
by that. " Sure the craithurs are sick !" says he once, on some 
phenomenon or other turning up ; then follows babblement 
quite unintelligible to me; but it is all cleared and cured soon 
as appears, by his " Blackthorn stick !" Sootiest, most phan- 
tasmal piece of nonsense I ever heard : to our boat again, Den- 
ny (ashamed of "Blackthorn") dragging me off. Dark now; 
sea beautiful, and light still in it. Songs from two persons, 
editor Barry one of them ; Father O'SuUivan, still witty, steer- 
ing (Father O'Shea had stayed on land). " In hopes to harbor 
in thy arms !" was one of Barry's songs. " I-a-n ho-opes to 
ha-arbor in thy a-a-arms !" reiterates always some much-endur- 
ing mortal of the sailing class — and does get married, I think 
— with a round of applause from us, and cow joining in the 
burden. Round of applause done. Father O'S., with a confi- 
dential business tone, mentions, " Though joining faintly in the 
chorus, in the name of the Church I beg leave to protest !" 
this, with the tone and yellow wig, etc., did well enough ; a 
specimen of Father Sn. All priests almost, except Shea, sur- 
prise me by their seeming carelessness about reliEcion, a matter 
of military drill with them, you would say. This cheery O'Sul- 
livan, with his vulgar but real good humor, was amongst the 
best I can remember, after the good O'Shea, who I hear labors 
diligently among a large poor flock — three or four curates — 



and, though nothing of a bigot, seems truly a serious man. 
Home in two cars, O'Shea in mine; jolty, dark, late, about two 
A.M. at Imperial Hotel (when a begging idiot starts up to assist 
us in ringing bell). We all part: sleep with difficulty two 
hours again ; not the hajjpiest of meu, no ! 

Wednesday, \8th Juhj. — Damp morning, yet with struggling 
sunshine; rejected contributor of Duffy's, sits at back table 
while we breakfast ; speaks of Lord Limerick, of Dolly's Brae 
affair (quite new) — baddish fellow ; foi'gottcn all but his voice. 
Three coaches in the road ; immense packing, got under way 
at last, towards Killarney and Shine Lawlor. Longisli row of fel- 
lows sitting against the walls of houses on quay at the bridge end ; 
very ugly in their lazzarone aspect under the sunshine. Spa- 
cious but half-waste aspect of streets as we roll upw-ards tow- 
ards the hill country out of Cork. Windy, and ever more so : 
country bare. Put off hat (owing to head wind) at first stage, 
and took out cap from my carpet-bag. Bare commonplace 
country — plenty of inequalities and " natural features," but cult- 
ure and elegance of taste in possessors much wanting. Blar- 
ney Castle, I remember it> among its bit of wood at tlie foot of 
dingy uncultivated heights, in dingy bare country ; a gray 
square tower mainly, visible in its wood, which the big waste 
seemed to reduce to a patch. Country getting barer, wild- 
er; forgotten now all details of it. Meet criminals in long 
carts escorted by police; young women many of them, a kind 
of gypsy beauty in some of the witches — keen glancing black 
eyes, with long coarse streams of black hair; "To Cork for 
trial " — eheu ! Saw at another point of the road large masses 
of people camped on the wayside {other side of Mallow, I 
think ?), " waiting for out-door relief;" squalid, squalid, not the 
extremity of raggedness seen at Kildare, however. Remember 
next to nothing of the country; hedgeless, dim ; moory, tilled 
patches in moory wilderness of unfilled ; heights in the distance, 
but no name to them discoverable, nor worth mucli search ; 
wind fresliening and right ahead. Mallow perhaps about two 
o'clock ; hollow with modicum of woods ; green all and fertile- 
looking, with pleasant slate-roofs and promise of a goodish town 
soon. Town really not bad : swift yet darkish stream as we 
enter; ascending street, shops, air of some business; barrack 
(fails nowhere) ; we descend again swiftly, street narrower and 
winding, but still handsome enough ; have to turn to Limerick 
Railway Station, and then, amid the tumult of men, horses, 
boxes, cars, and multiplied confusion, wait long before we can 
return to hill-foot, and resvine our road. Sheltered road for 
some miles ; on our right over the hedge, runs ugly as chaos 
ditch of & futile "canal." This is the way to Ballygiblin (Sir 
W^ and L.idy Beecher's), but I have given up that. Wind still 
higher, sunshine gone ; haggard famine of beggars (one stage I 
specially remember in this respect ; poorest of hamlets, hungri- 
est of human populations) ; dust, tempest, threatenings of rain ; 
cigars are my one poor consolation. At "Millstreet" dine or 
lunch ; pleasant village among woods on the hill-slope, as seen 
from the distance ; interior, one mass of mendicanc}', ruined by 
the " famine," by the potato-failure. All towns here seem to 
depend for their trade on mere produce of the earth : mills, 
distilleries, bacon, butter — what of "respectability with gig" 
could be derived from that has taken station in towns, and alt 
is wrecked now. After lunch, street filled with beggars ; peo- 
ple in another coach threw half-pence ; the population ran at 
them like rabid dogs, dogs of both sexes, and whelps ; one old- 
ish fellow I saw beating a boy, to keep at least him out of the 
competition. Rain; "Hay-y-p!" down hill at a rapid pace; 
happily we get away. Duffy has taken refuge inside; and the 
rain now for about an hour becomes furious- — lasts in furious 
occasional showers, but briefer, till near the end of the journey- 
Desolate, bare, moory countr}' ; hanging now in clear wet; 
much bog, mainly bog ; treeless and swept over by a harsh 
moist wind; ugly, ugly, and very cold; meet drove of horses 
coming from (or going to?) some "fair." Light, clean-shank- 
ed, cob-looking creatures, very cheap ; I was told " £'5 " or so, 
for they are unbred and they are lean. Sharp-nosed, pinched 
little Irishman with wild gray little eyes and dark hair has now 
(I really don't remember where) got upon the coach ; is very 



18 



KEMINISCENCES OF MY IKISH JOURNEY. 



explanatoiy, communicative — a kind of caterer for some hotel, 
as I (fathered afterwards. " That is ' Mansierton ' (a huge ua;! y 
hulk'^of a mountain, truncated-p\-raniidal), with the Devil's 
Punclibowl on the top of it; that is tlie lake-country; and 
Mac<rillicuddy's Reeks you sec there (further westward, an 
irregular serrated ridge), the liighest land in Ireland !" and so 
forth. A gentleman in dish-hat, whom I had seen first in Mal- 
low (Lawless, Lord Cioncurry's son, as I learned afterwards), 
came now up beside me: civil English dialect, "had got spoiled 
potatoes to dinner yesterday at Mallow." Nothing memorable 
more. A fierce rain where we changed horses, when he got up ; 
wretched people cowering about to look at us, or beg, neverthe- 
less : and this ended our rain for that evening. N.B. Lawless's 
former coach was somehow connected with the London under- 
taking (new this season) to forward ox frank man to Killarney 
for a certain sum : one or two frankers, I think he told me, 
were in that coach. Dim to me all of it — and unimportant. 

Mangorton, streak of Killarney evening smoke, and Macgil- 
licuddv's serrated ridge, front of the mountain-country, hand- 
somely fringed, too, with some wood, were now getting very 
visible ; the moor changes itself into- drained cultivated land, 
with gentlemen's seats, and human or more human farm-houses 
— decidedly rather beautiful, by contrast especially. Rain gone, 
wind tolerably fallen ; western sky clear as silver, but mostly 
still overhung with dark waving sheets of cloud. " Inn, and a 
cup of hot tea ;" that is the grand outlook 1 Big mills (I think ?) 
at crossing of some stream ; we are near some castellated mod- 
ern house up on the left — name forgotten, proprietor (useful, 
slightly squinting young man, connected with Peoble O'Keefe's 
territory) dined with us next day. High avenues, Lord Ken- 
mare's ; steepish descent ; paved street at last, and square-built 
open street (town of 6000, you would have said — 12,000 I was 
told) ; chaos of hungry porters, inn agents, lodging agents, beg- 
gars, storming round you, like ravenous dogs round carrion ; 
this is Killarney. Swift, oh swift, into the car for " Roche's," 
for anybody's ; and let us off 1 Roche's, I find, is a mile and a 
half distant ; at the lake side or near it ; fine avenues all the 
way, and we go fast — the inn itself, a kind of general lodging- 
house rather, did, in my experience, by no means correspond to 
our hope. Funeral overtaken by us; the "Irish howl" — to- 
tally disappointing, there was no sorrow whatever in the tone 
of it. A pack of idle women, mounted on the hearse as many 
as could, and the rest walking, were hoh-hoh-ing with a grief 
quite evidently hired, and not worth hiring. Swift through it ! 
Here is " Roche's," a long row of half-cottagc-looking build- 
ings ; in the middle part is the inn proper, and we get admitted 
taliter qualiter. Bedrooms of the smallest ever seen, " no pri- 
vate sitting-room ;" bread bad, tea Inkewarm, etc.; public room 
(which, happily, is nearly empty) has no window that will come 
down at all, and to shove any up (or support it up) you must 
have a stick ; evidently not the best ventilated, or the best in 
any respect, of terrestrial inns. I walked out to be free of the 
hot foul air ; would fain have seen the lake or Muckruss Ab- 
bey at night without any guide, but couldn't ; no admittance 
anywhere. Rain beginning, I came in; wrote a letter; went 
to bed. 

Thursday, \^th July. — Bedroom reminds me of being tied 
up in a sack; clean, quiet little cell, however; smoke out of 
the window, and look at the early sun and moon. Moon turned 
away from Killarney. Shine Lawlor appears at breakfast: 
polite, quick, well-bred-looking, intelligent little fellow, with 
Irish-English air, with little bead-eyes and features, and repale 
feelings, Irish altogether. We are to come after breakfast, he 
will " show us the lake," regrets to have no bed, etc. — polite 
little man — and we are to bring the inn car for ourselves and 
him. Poor S. L., perhaps he laid no car of his own in these 
distressed times ! The evident poverty of many an Irish gen- 
tleman and the struggle of his hospitality with that, was one 
of the most touching sights — inviting, and even commanding, 
respectful silence from the guest, surely ; Shine Lawlor's " Cas- 
tle Lough " (I think he calls it) is a beautiful little place, iu 
thick woods, close to " Roche's," and looking over the very 
lake — though not from this parlor where we now were. Sfiea 



Lawlor there too, a kinsman from Bantry ; tallow-complexioned, 
big, erect man, with sharp-croaking Irish voice, small cock-nose, 
stereotype glitter of smile, and small, hard blue eyes — explodes 
in talking about Duffy; ex-repaler, talks much, half-wisely, 
whole -foolishly (I find), in that vein. "Rev. Dr. Moor, Prin- 
cipal of Oscot," high, heavy man in black (Catholic) gaiters ; 
Catholic Harmonious Blacksmith — really very like Whewell. 
Young Shine Lawlor's brother a medicus from Edinburgh ; 
pleasant idle youth with cavendish tobacco: these are the 
party ; Shine, l^nffy, and I off in car for " Gap of Dunloe ;" 
the others — all but Shea — are to meet us in boat. Killarney 
workhouse ; 3000 strong, the old abominable aspect of " human 
swinery "• — -managed as handsomely as they could. Rain has 
begun ; Duffy turns, prefers to talk all day with Shea at Castle 
Lough : Shine and I alone ; swift pleasant-enough colloquy ; 
sensible, shifty man, has done his best in famine-time, with 
wretched tenants; still above water, thanks to " lying money " 
he had. Farm of his; "Will you enter 1" Yes. Bare, very 
bare, new cottage ; built by farmer himself, who has a long 
lease ; docks, puddles, with rubbish all round ; kitchen place 
empty of furniture, except a stool or two, and some vestige of 
perhaps one tabic by the back wall ; sod roof visible from 
within ; bearded, dirty, big farmer there, who stutters and is 
civil; worn little old wife, who is reluctant "to show me her 
milk-house." How she keeps her milk ? " I kape it in keelers !" 
— with a haggard glance from the corner of her old black eyes. 
Daughter and she conduct us, nevertheless ; over wet cow- 
house spaces from stepping-stone to stepping-stone ; an ancient 
cow-house, windows walled up with mortarlcss stones, no cows 
in it, milk in "keelers" (wooden coolers, shallow pails), stand- 
ing two rows on the floor; sod roof visible above has once had 
some smear of lime-wash ; transient rat has rained down clay 
into some of the dishes ; alas, alas ! They sufiply the Killar- 
ney workhouse with milk ; have forty cows (they say — per- 
haps forty head), that is their farm industry. Fat stuttering 
farmer escorts us through spongy dock-field civilly to the road ; 
and -we mount again, and roll. "National School iiere ; walk 
in ?" A most somnolent dusty establishment : perhaps some 
sixteen little scholars ; unshaven, sleepy schoolmaster : " has no 
best class," he says ; and, indeed, it is all a shrine of dusty 
sleep, among the worst of " National Schools :" not at all with- 
out rivals and even surpassers (victors in that bad race), as I 
found. " Out-door relief " next ; at a wretched little country 
shop ; Shine's frank, swift talk to the squalid crowd : dusty 
squalor, full of a noisy hum, expressing greed, suspicion, and 
incarnated nonsense of various kinds. Ragged wet hedges, 
weedy ditches ; nasty, ragged, spongy - looking flat country 
hereabouts — like a drunk country fallen down to .sleep amid 
the mud. 

To left, up narrow hard moor-road here, hard like Craigen- 
puttock country ; beggars waiting at solitary corners, start with 
us, run sometimes miles ; get nothing — Lawlor doesn't mind 
them in the least. We are mounting fast into the stony hills; 
Macgillicuddy, not always very conspicuous, lies still further to 
the west (I think) ; this route is wholly westward of the lake. 
One beggar ran for two, or perhaps three, miles ; he, on the 
dismissal of our car, does get coats, etc., to carry, and a shil- 
ling, I suppose. Yi\-repale Shine does agree with me that a 
Parliament — any Parliament, in these times — is a mere talking- 
machine ; that " Parliament on College-green," even if it could 
be had, is moonshine. Pass is getting straitor, high rocky 
brows on left hand. We dismiss our car, take to walking ; 
mount now through the " Gap " itself ; high rugged back cliffs 
of slaty ov Jlar/ structure lower overhead on both hands; with 
tumbled masses of the same below, and bright fat grass border- 
ing them — " grass which kills cattle " (when they get too much 
of it suddenly, I suppose I). Melancholy small farm (with clean 
straw-roof, however), where the gap 02>ens into a kind of craggy 
wide pit, and we are now at the summit of the place; wild, 
gray, damp sky, and showers still scudding about. In front of 
the farm-house is "L>unloe Hotel," so Shine laughingly names 
it. Squalid, dark, empty cottage, where, with a dirty table and 
bench, without fire visible, food, or industry of any kind, sit 
two women to press upon you the " dainty of the country," 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



19 



" whiskey and c;oat's milk." Taste it ; a greasy abomination ; 
gave tlio wretches sixpence, and get away. Poor wretclies, 
after all ; but liiiinan ])U>i dies away into stony misery and dis- 
gust in the excess of such scenes. One of these women is the 
farmer's sister; " he won't let me enter his house," she said or 
hinted; the other mixlress of the vendible dainty, I learned 
afterwards (at least if Irish carman's observation could teach), 
was " Kate Kearney's" niece ; " Kearney " she too, but not of the 
song — though, if lifted from her squalor, she might be a hand- 
some woman. Step along out of rocky circuit (amphitheatre 
would have sloped more) ; Shine talking of deer-hunts here ; 
no other stock (heard of), unless it were that farmer's two or 
three small k-ews (cows). Other face of the wild, too hag- 
gard, misty glen (to right of us), and glens and hills ; bogyy- 
looking; air of Galloway and Puttock. Path, for which we 
have left the road, is craggy ; sharp showers fall ; descend, de- 
scend ; near the bottom we meet young Lawlor, find Catholic 
Harmonious Blacksmith waiting for us under the shelter of a 
little bridge : forward now to — boat-house (it proves), with gay 
boat, four dressed handsome native bo.atmcn ; and sherry, etc.; 
lunch in it (as the oars go), of which I cannot eat, much pre- 
ferring to smoke instead. 

Lake clear, blue — almost black ; slaty precipitous islets rise 
frequent ; rocky dark hills, somewhat fringed with native ar- 
butus (very frequent all about Killarncy), mount skyward on 
every hand. Well enough — but don't bother mo with audihli/ 
admiring it : oh ! if you but wouldn't ! Come once or twice 
aground with our boat, in muddy creeks seeking the pictur- 
esque too eagerly ; otherwise a pleasant sail. " Ornamental 
cottages," deep shrouded in arbutus wood, with clearest cascades 
and a depth of silence very inviting, abound on the shores of 
these lakes ; but somelhinij of dilapidation, beggary, human 
fatuity in one or other form, is painfully visible in nearly all. 
" Ornamental cottage " first ; woman had gone out to gain a 
half-penny by opening a gate for us (but missed that some- 
how) ; within one window of the place, a gray fat savant is 
busy sticking dead beetles into his natural-history pocket-book 
with pins ; rolls a big minatory eye on us as we pass ; kitchen 
next to him, where we enter, is squalling infant (mother out to 
gain half-penny), rubbishly tireless floor with two other chil- 
dren — ugly, upon my honor! Stag-hunts have been; yonder 
(west side of the lake) ; most silent, solitary, with a wild beauty 
looking through the squalor of one's thoughts ; that is the 
impression of the scene; moistly soft weather too harmonized. 
Boatman sings us, by order, two " repale songs ;" deep bass 
voice and business tone ; songs obscurely emhlcmatic, clearly of 
most ignorant character ; a tine Roman-nosed steel-complex- 
ioned fellow, the singer ; who also awoke echoes, worth not much. 
I remember a most rapid strait, between black rocks, some- 
times reckone<l dangerous ; item, an old black bridge (beggar- 
girls at it, " We been waiting for ye all day !"). Boatman 
steered (song — boatman chiefly), and shot the lightened boat, we 
passing on foot, along the rapid rock-walled channel here. 
Dangerous this, truly; especially in floods; gentleman (young 
Lawlor's acquaintance) drowned there in spite of best swim- 
ming skill. We waited, in rain, below some other bridge (I 
remember till boat came up) ; passed also below a wooden 
bridge (woody, wild, but pleasant country, all this) ; and now 
we are in the lower lake, bigger but not so interesting. Land 

at some ornamental cottage called , where, the people Iw- 

ing understood to be at dinner, we do not call ; go on to 
"Lady Kcnmare's cottage;" and return. Beautiful little cot- 
tage, "which her Ladyship never inhabits;" in the sweetest 
little woody bay or cove ; mosaic pavement down to the water 
edge ; grand Swiss projecting eaves ; bay-windows, etc. All 
the floors and sofas pealed, if we look within ; and for a finale 
a big stone has been hoisted through one of the glass panes, 
which gapes there, wide as your hat, as if in sorrowful anger 
and surprise : " Iler Ladyship never visits it." Alas ! the fu- 
tilities of man ! Big lake is rather windv, even rough ; some 
religious island with editice (name forgotten) is visible in it to 
left or northwest. Muckruss House (Herbert's) indistinctly, 
Muckruss Abbey hardly at all, with woods and those bare Man- 
gertons and mountains in front ; pale brassy sky glitters cold 



on us, boat pitches, wind blows ; one is hungry and glad enough 
to reach Castle Lough. Confused toilet; confused drawing- 
room ; dinner at last; squires, two doctors; two poor Engli.sh 
ladies (Mrs. Lawlor and sister), quite " subdued to what they 
work in," not interesting, though really sad to me (what inter- 
est there was). Harmonious (Catholic) Blacksmith was on 
one side (eupeptic, tolerably thirsty ton), then Peoble ( )'Kecfe 
(let us call him the castellated squire slightly squinting), I 'uSy, 
and one or both doctors; I was on the other side; second 
English lady (knows " Bayswater," if nothing else) was mine; 
then Shea Lawlor, and perhaps another, or two others. Dinner 
was noisy -Irish, not unpleasant, not anywhere unpolite ; nor 
was intelligence or candor (partly got up for me, it might be, 
yet I think was not) amid the roughish but genial mirth a 
quite missing element. Shea talked largely, wanted me to open 
on O'Connell that he might hear him well denounced; but I 
wouldn't. Shine talked, workhouse labor, etc., and Peoble 
O'Keefc talked ; bad tea in fireless parlor : finally, we emerge 
in pitch-dark night, with escort through the woods, and bid our 
kind Irish entertainers a kind adieu. Good be with them, 
good struggling people ; that is my hearty feeling for them 
now. 

Friday, 20//* July. — Good morning, with a pious "blessing" 
from our stecl-complexioned boatman, who is waiting, as a 
crowd of others do, idle in front of "Roche's;"' I have a, pri- 
vate road these two mornings, which leads unfrequented up to 
the hills — secluded smoke there, in the breezy sun. We are 
for Limerick road now ; uncertain rather how. One Crosbie 
of Tralee has written inviting me, to whom I have written ap- 
pointing notice from him hither ; none has yet come. Public 
car starts from Killarncy at eleven. OfiE we; meet postboy, 
no letter yet — Crosbie of Tralee is off, then. Drive on to Shea 
Lawlor's, in Killarncy main street, and consult about " King 
William's Town," and the possibilities of that. Quite possible 
— start on car for that; will make "Castle Island" after it to- 
night, and wait there for Limerick car or coach to-morrow. 
Jolt, jolt (bad car) ; away, away ! 

Limestone quarry ; steep ascent — relief Comn. road, to im- 
prove it, walled up, though nearly ended ; one of many such 
we saw, in those parts chiefly. Scandalous wide moor begins, 
stretches ever wider, with huts and people ever more deplor- 
able, for (I guess) some fifteen dreary miles ; " McQuag " or some 
such man'.s lime-work about the middle of that space ; " hos- 
pitable man, Mr. McQuag, sir." Has no water-j)ail, however; 
some cranes, quarry heaps, and rude show of substance about 
him ; other vestige of " productive industry " we saw nowhere. 
Road ("made by Queen Elizabeth") runs straight as an ar- 
row, over hill, over hollow ; steep and rough, and unspeakably 
dreary ; bare, blue, bog without limit, ragged people in small 
force working languidly at their scantlings or peats, no other 
work at all ;' look hungry in their rags ; hopeless, air as of 
creatures sunk beyond hope ; look into one of their huts, un- 
der pretence of asking for a draught of water ; dark, narrow ; 
two women nursing, other young woman on foot as if for work; 
but it is narrow, dark, as if the people and their life were cov- 
ered under a tub, or "tied in a sack;" all things smeared over, 
too, with a liquid yreen : the cow (I find) has her habitation 
here withal. No water ; the poor young woman produces butter- 
milk; in real pity I give her a shilling. Duffy had done the 
like in the adjoining cottage; ditto, ditto, in Charcutcr, with 
the addition then a'man lay in fever there. These were the 
wretchcdest population I saw in Ireland. " Live, sir ? The 
Lord knows ; what we can beg and rob " (rob means scrape up>, 
I suppose ?) : Lord Kenmare's people, he never looks after 
them ; " leases" worthless bog, and I know not what. ^Bog all 
reclaimable, lime everywhere in it ; swift exit to Lord Kenmaro 
and the leases, or whatever the accursed incubus is ! The peo- 
ple, as I surmise, do live by "buttermilk;" wretched produce 
of a lean cow here and there, still alive upon the bog ; pound 
or two of butter (precious stuff it must be in these huts !), In- 
dian-meal, and there is sour milk over and above. 

Good road at last, a broader one, and down swiftly by it to 
" Kinf William's Town," where are slated cottages, hedges, and 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



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fields with crops and even cabbages in them ; a blessed 
je indeed. Sad dihipidaled inn — potatn-failnre, and fai'- 
the pool- landhidy's broken heart (vve find), " hardly in 

iiind since loss of her son." Here, at police barrack, pro- 
McGreo-or's cii'cidar, and all is made handy for us; and 

re we iiavo dinner done "Mr. Boyne," a jolly, eflEectnul- 

in'T man of fifty, waits civilly upon us, has liis car on the 

I. and will "show us everything." 

>oble O'Keefe's country was confiscated in the rebellion of 
; this huge tract of moor (part or whole of his territory) 
clandestinely, at length let on many-lived leases to the 

?cfe representative (i. e., nominally to some other, in real- 

him), of which the present specimen ("slightly squint- 
) had dined witli us last night. Some eighteen years ago, 

many-lived lease ran out; rent had been some £45; ques- 
ts. Let it again? Grifiiith of Irish Board of Works, backed 
iords Besborough and Monteagle (Spring Rice), then in 
!, got an answer, " No, try to improve it," and a grant, 
uccessivc grants, which have now run to £24,000 under 

,.;uidance of this Boyne, a Mcath man, land-surveyor's son, 
had already "cut the Galtee mountains in four" by roads 
igh them, and was known by Griflith for an e.vcellent 
onel of spademen," which he is. Boyne has now been 
itcen years there : a most solid, eupeptic, energetic, use- 
loking man; whose mark stands indelible on this bog. 

..ildn't stand without sinking here when I first came" — 
lent rye and oats growing now, hedges of thorn, bright 
ms green of grass, one hundred head of "specimen cattle" 
ng others), clean cottage-farms; a country beautiful to eve 
mind as we drove through it in the bright fresh evening, 
le has a farm of (I think?) three hundred acres, or was it 
t a year ; first-rate farm, first-rate dairy, etc., as we ourselves 
His rent goes into the government grants ; for ho is 

■y taking in new moor, only some 750 acres (out of 5000 
•00?) being yet under plough and scythe. His cottagers, 
ips thirty or forty with /arms, had none of them quarrelled 
him, though all had been shifted from their lots; they 
)rimless hats, even of dirty tanned skin, and had incidental 
•s on their coarse clothing ; but they looked healthy, liearty, 

■ and brisk, and even joyful, as we saw them at their labors 
cidedly the pleasantest aspect, or the only " pleasant" one, 

1 remember in Ireland. Brimless man, for example, issu- 
roui the limekiln — dust wholly, but a pair of inextinguish- 
brisk healthy-eager eyes — to solicit, with impetuous rapid 
lence, "some little of the ould turf to mix with the new," 
it might burn better : granted ! Other man near Boyne's 
o-field ; cottagers all, of still better expression. Boyne's 
farm ; his dairy the best (or erpia! practically to the best) 
r saw. Excellent " rye " — " Walk through It, gentlemen ; 
won't hurt it!" — as high as one's chin, thick, clean, and 
'ar, though the soil below seemed mere pieces of peat, 

I would have burnt still. Tea with Mrs. Boyne and him ; 
lent Dandie Dinmont parlor, personnel and entertainment 

•ether. But the expense, £24,000 ? B. admitted that it was 
!nse; urged, however, what was true, that most of it had 
laid out on roads, " being road to Kanturk,'' road to etc., 
which was raising the value of other properties, of all 
erties ; and that what he had laid out on this specially was 
■';/ returned to liiin — almost wholly, us we computed from 
ata ; though B. himself was candid enough to admit that, 
:s moor were his, he would not take quite that method of 
niiug it; he would get good farmers and let it with im- 
ng leases. "But if yoii had 2000 laborers already fed 
clothed to your hand (such as sit in the Killarney work- 
•. idle at this moment) ?" Boyne's eyes sparkled ; but his 
ical solid soul refused to admit so transcendent a specula- 
and he did not dwell on that outlook. Moor enough, 
theless, worth little to any creature, is lying hereabouts 

II the paupers in Cork County this half-century to come : 
Kenmare, or whatever lord or mortal obstructs that re- 

>ught to bo informed that he mustn't !— positively ! An- 
e of the late " Land Lnprovement Society." Biill about 
•ick: "^What price?" asked B.— " £20.''— " Pooh ! will 
;ou £8." — "Secretary of Land Improvement Society gave | 



us £.30 for the very fellow of it." — "If you like to send it 
down from Limerick to King William's Town within a week, I 
will give you £S" — -and it was sent. Land Improvement So- 
ciety is now, naturally, extinct in bankruptcy. Remarkable 
Triptolemus, this Boyne. Heavy broad man, fat big cheeks, 
gray beard well shaven ; clean enough ; smallish but honest, 
kindly intelligent hazel eyes, and nice brows to his big round 
head, which he flings slightly back in speaking, and rather 
droops his eyelids ; Irish accent, copious bubbling speech in 
querulous-genial tone, wholly narrative in character. Simplic- 
ity, energy, eupepticity ; a right healtliy, thick-sided Irish soul ; 
would one knew of 1000 such. Catholic, I should think, but 
we didn't ask. Wife a timidly polite yet sufficiently energetic- 
looking, rather beautiful woman of the due age; was recorded 
(by B. with oblique politeness) as admiring Duffy; had excel- 
lent scones, tea, cream, butter; which ended, we, really with 
emotion and admiration, quitted Boynedom. I'ol ice-sergeant 
was there, who brought up our ear for us; many thanks 
{Money, said L^uff3', will insult) : and so off — not now to Castle 
Island and the Limerick coach or car, but to Kanturk (of like 
distance, and of more certain inn), by which from Mallow the 
Limerick rail v/ould receive us. Kanturk, after long drive, 
restive horse, moors, cottages not very bad, some moor-burning, 
etc. ; Boyne's road getting ever dimmer, and at last quite dark. 
Newmarket, hill-village, after sunset, horse clear for stopping. 
Spectral shadow as of a huge old Gothic castle on our left, 
about a mile before Kanturk : somebody's " Folly," the car- 
man assnred us, and a modern thing; long slumbering street of 
suburb ; broader street, then solitary watchman bawling, with 
the old asinine-leonine voice, " Ha-af past wan-n-y I" (?) and 
high at the head of the street rises, with immense flight of 
steps, our high " hotel," where, in a dim, drowsy, not too com- 
fortable manner, we hustle ourselves into beds and sleep. Duffy 
(loyal soul as always) yielded me by far the best room ; but 
even it, except for size, could by no means be called good. 

Saturday, 2\st July. — Good enough morning; sun gradu- 
ally getting out ; walk through Kanturk to find somebody who 
can give some reliable information about Mallow rail trains ; 
diflScult, but find one at last, a grocer or spirit-dealer, and re- 
turn. Kanturk shaped like a Y ; our hotel at the bottom of 
the broad stalk of the " Y ;" rivers, shallow, broad, pebbly, but 
none of the cleanest, intersect the other two branches ; " their 
names?" man in street can't tell me. See guide-book if one 
likes ! I have decided now to yo by Lady Beecher's and Bally- 
giblin ; Duffy, in route to Mallow, can set me down at their 
gate; and we are to rendezvous in Limerick, at the chief hotel. 
Newspaper-venders, cnrious-impertinents. After various delays, 
we do depart. Pleasant country, hill and hollow, and no longer 
moory ; culture tolerable in general. Horse's saddle needs re- 
pair ; beggar-woman ; clean cap, sincere-looking creature ; Duf- 
fy's shilling. " Lady Beecher's school-house," then Ballygiblin 
gate; soon after noon, I think; and there I am left, walking 
pensive, in a gray, genial day, through a fine park, half a mile 
towards this unknown mansion. Two letters I had — one from 
Ay. Sterling to Lady, one from Lord Monteagle to Sir W. ; and 
these, for I think I was hardly known otherwise, except by 
alarming humor (heterodoxy, etc.), procured me handsome 
admittance. 

Lady B.,' a tall, stately, leanish figure of fifty-five; of strict, 
hard aspect, high cheek-bones, and small blue eyes — expression 
of vigor, energy, honesty ; tone of voice and of talk dry, stinted- 
practical. Lnncheon with two of her youths just setting off for 
Killarney, a ditto that was to stay, and her two young ladies — 
handsome, fair-skinned, fine-featured people all ; quite English 
in type and ways. House and grounds beautiful ; school, cot- 
tages, peasants, all in perfect order; walk with Lady B., and 
then with Sir W.'s brother (" Wrixon " is the original name,' 
"Beeeher" was adopted for heritable reasons). All things 
trim and nice, without doors and within ; as in the best Eng- 
lish or Scotch houses of the kind. A strict religionist. Lady 
B., really wholesome and worthy, easy enough to talk with, nor 

' Lady Beeeher had been Miss O'Neill, tiie famous actress. 



KEMLNISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



31 



quite unprofliictivc ; her boudoir by tlic side of the liall, father's 
aiul mother's portraits in it, and all manner of ladv-eleijancies ; 
people meeting her " mylady-inij, tlic boy is better-ing ;" every- 
thing has been snbdned to herself, I tind, and carries the image 
of her own strict, methodic, vigorous character and perfect 
Churcli-of-Englandism, which I find slie zealously adopts as the 
exponent of this nniverse, and struggles continually to make 
serve her as a complete rule of life. Very well indeed. Sir 
W. much lamed now (b}' some fall from his liorse), appears 
towards dinner; fine, mildly dignified old gentleman; reminds 
me of Johnstone of Grange. Evening pleasant enough; one 
young lady plays me innumerable Jacobite tunes; rest of the 
party playing whist ; Lady B. herself ended by singing me 
"Bonnie Prince Charlie." To sleep, in excellent room and bed; 
a place where one can sleep — infinitely grateful to me. 

Stinday, 22d Juli/. — Dim breezy morning. Train doesn't 
run to Limerick to-day ; must stay, am as well pleased ! Decide 
to give L^ufiy leave to go hiniself — and do so in the afternoon ; 
one of various notes I wrote there. To church in the mean- 
^vhilc ; walk with Mr. Wrixon, Sir W. B.'s brother, a farmer on 
Lis own account, and general manager, as I can gather, at Bally- 
giblin ; Lady and Sir are in the big old carriage by some cir- 
cuitous road. Sudden change, in passing a hedge as we walk 
along the highway: what is this? Lovd Limerick's estate; 
ground unfilled some of it, thistles, docks, dilapidated cottages, 
ragged men ; two years' troublous insolvency, and now they 
are evicted : "Here is one of them; I will just set him going 
for you ; turn the spigot, and he will run all day !" Middle- 
aged farmer-peasant, accordingly, takes off his liat, salutes low, 
walks hat in hand, wind blowing his long thick hair, black with 
a streak of gray. His woes, his bad usages. I distinguish little 
but at all turns " tham vagobonds I" He has been fellow sub- 
lessee of lands along with various other " vagabonds ;" he paid 
always to the nail, they not; all are now turned out into the 
road together, the innocent along with the guilty ; kin<l neigh 
bor has taken him in, with wife and children, for the time. A 
reasonably good kind of man, to appearance, and in the truest 
perplexity with laws of the truest injustice. " And have you 
any notion what you are to do now?" — "Not a ha'p'orth, yer 
honor I" Mr. W. can give no work, wishes he conid ; the poor 
man will write to Mr. Somebody (the agent) at Cork, begging- 
passage to America, begging something or other. W. will ratify 
his respectability ; and so we make away, and leave him to clap 
on his hat again. Sad contrast continues ; ugly cottages, un- 
ploughed lands, all gone to savagery — poorhouse alone like to 
reap much produce from this kind of culture. Lord Limerick's 
method, and his father's before him. Loud and very just com- 
plaint that a Beeeher should be tied to a Limerick in this way ; 
not left to swim the gulf of pauperism separately, but obliged 
to do it together ! A universal complaint ; quite tragic to see 
the justice of, everywhere; Larcora and his men are doing 
what they can to help it ; which, practically, is but little hith- 
erto. 

Church service ; clean congregation of forty ; red - haired 
young Irish parson, who is very evidently "performing" the 
service. Decency everywhere; poor little decent church with 
the tombs round it, and a tree or two shading it (on the top of 
a high rough green bank with a brook at the bottom) : service 
here, according to the natural English method, " decently per- 
formed." I felt how decent English Protestants, or the sons 
of such, might with zealous affection like to assemble here once 
a week, and remind themselves of English purities and decen- 
cies and Gospel ordinances, in the midst of a black howling 
Babel of superstitions savagery — like Hebrews sitting by the 
streams of Babel : but I feel more clearly than ever how impos- 
sible it was that an extraneous son of Adam, first seized by the 
terrible conviction that he had a soul to be saved or damned, 
that he must rede the riddle of this universe or go to perdition 
everlasting, could for a moment think of taking this respecta- 
ble " performance " as the solution of the mystery for him ! 
Oh, heaven I never in this world ! Weep ye % the stream of 
Babel, decent clean English-Irish; weep, for there is cause, till 
you can do something better than weep ; but expect no Baby- 



lonian or any other mortal to concern himself with that affair 
of yours I And, on the whole, I would recommend yon rather to 
give up "weeping" — take to working out your meaning rather 
than weeping it. No sadder truth presses itself upon one than 
the necessity there will soon be, and the call there everywhere 
already is, to quit these old rubrics and give up these empty 
performances altogether. All "religions" that I fell in with 
in Ireland seemed to mc too irreligious; really, in sad truth, 
doing mischief to the people in place of good ! Our ladies 
joined zealously in the responses, the gentlemen too kept up a 
form of following, but were passive rather. Home in the car- 
riage, good "moral talk" with Lady B., whose hard eyes have 
a good deal softened towards me. Note-writing; then, I think, 
an hour of sleep (the afternoon proved showery, with hio-h 
breezes) ; at half-past six to dinner : young red parson (decent 
vacuity) ; other brother of Sir W.'s, unhealthy parson who has 
revenues and keeps a curate ; talk of wonderful Scotchman 
who " built Fermoy " — that is, first made it something of a 
town. Anderson (I think ? perhaps not ?), a Scotch peddler 
boy, expanded himself by slow steady degrees ; took to trad- 
ing on the great scale, to running coaches; set up a bank; be- 
came Bart., but failed (not dishonorably) ; son still lives, an 
idle undistinguished Bart. he. What the latter part of our 
evening was I hardly recollect at all : autobiography came on 
the carpet; I spoke with Lady B., now quite softened to me, 
and her fears hushed, about writing down her life ; dry, feeble 
laugh of gratification in reply, and talk enough (though in 
quite genei'al terms), abont her life as an actress. The big pict- 
ure of Juliet (of which I remembered engravings from my bo}'- 
hood), hung conspicuous in the drawing-room. Bed at last, 
not very late ; red parson and all have vanished in a gray sea 
of oblivion and sleep. 

Monday, 28rf July. — Some difficulty about a car for me to 
railway at two. Sir W. and brother at length take me in their 
carriage; eight miles, not unattended with rain-showers. Com- 
monplace green country, with weedy fields, ragged hedges, 
many brooks and boggy places; here and there a big mill — 
the only kind of efficient manufactory one sees in Ireland, that 
of corn into meal. The meal, too, is bad, not well made gener- 
ally, but quite ill : the mill, however, is larye enough — there is 
surely a potentiality of good meal ! To the station just in 
time ; amid fierce scuds of wet, kind and polite farewell ; and 
the steam-horse snorts away for Limerick. " Hah ! Sir Wm. ?" 
cried a lean old spectre of a gentleman in the carriage by me ; 
but .we were off, and there could be no interview — probably 
bettor so, I thought. Spectral old gentleman all gone but the 
eyes, set in a pair of baggy parchment cheeks; was willing to 
have talked, but I wouldn't : a Cork quasi-naval old spectral 
gentleman, full of windy hungry folly, after grouse just now. 
Silence much preferable! Foolish gabble about Queen's com- 
ing, and other as important topics. Green commonplace coun- 
try; remember little of it, even of the latter part which they 
call "Golden Vale," so brazen did it look in that sad humor. 
Remember the sound, " Buttevant Station !" and sight perhaps 
of a barrack and some roofs on the right ; item " Charlcville," 
roofs, chapel, etc., rather gray-looking; on the left, "Kilmal- 
lock?" Yes, a black old haggard ruin, some monastery or 
other, amid black hungry-looking houses, visible for some timo 
on the left; Galtee mountains on the right — actual "Galtees" 
liere, big block of peaky mountain country ; Kilmallock, and 
onward, a Desmond country ; a la botnie lieurc. Junction of 
Dublin-and-Limorick Railway ; ive arc on the Cork-and-Limer- 
ick ; long jumbling to and fro, on open platform ; put out my 
cigar (in uncertainty for time), might have finished it well 
enough. Acquaintances of parchment spectre; "Irish squi- 
reens," not of the best physiognomy. Off at last — Catholic 
Harmonious Blacksmith, I see, is in the train, second class; 
quite affectionate he, but shy speaking much with him. Con- 
fused "stations;" country green, with some wood ; hills north- 
ward, "Slieve Phclim," I fancy: white chateau among woods; 
spectral gentleman will know whose it is — was somebody's, is 
a workhouse now, sir, "Hah, ah I" Symptoms of Limerick at 
last, in the blessed showery afternoon. 



22 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



Long low street, parallel to our rail ; exotic in aspect, Lim- 
erick plebs live there. Station strait, confused; amid rain — 
and po(ir Duffy stands there, with sad, loving smile, a glad 
si"-ht to me after all ; and so in omnibus, with spectre, black- 
smith, and full fare of others (omnibus that couldiit have a 
window opened), to "Cruise's Hotel." Cruise himself, a lean, 
ea">-er-looking little man of fort}-, most reverent of Duffy, as is 
common here, riding with us. Private room ; and ambitious, 
bad dinner, kickshaws (sweet breads, salmon, etc.), and uneat- 
ables. Richd. Bourke has at once followed rac into my bed- 
room, an old London acquaintance busy here in Poor-law ; am 
to join him at Lisnagry to-morrow for dinner. Strelezki and 
Inspector; from them and Bourke I have rapidly had to get 
loose for dinner. 

Wet chief street of Limerick, glimpse of harbor, with poor 
turf -craft, mainly through an opening on the other side. Sick- 
ly, weary ; Duffy reads choice Irish ballads to me — unmusical 
enough. Priest O'Brien, ho that roused the mob against Mit- 
chol last year ; a brandy-faced, pockmarked, very ugly man, of 
Irish physioiiuomy, comes in with wild-eyed, still more Irish 
youno'er priest, and some third party of the editorial sort whom 
I do not recollect at all — tea with these ; and copious, not 
pleasaut, talk. A baddish kind of priest ; get out at last, to 
find Strelezki (brush-headed, bell-voiced, busy little Pole whom 
I have seen in London) and the fat Inspector with whom he is 
dining. Further end of main street — which is very solitary and 
dim-looking now, about ten. Find it at last; Pole gone; In- 
spector there, most civil, but little good to be got of him except 
addresses of the De Veres. Home and met O'Brien, Brandy- 
face, & Co. on the stairs. Good-night. Oh yes, good-night, and 
power to your elbows all ! Slept considerably, not sufficiently. 

Tuesday, 24th July. — Towards Post-office; rfam/j-sunny 
morning: letters had come last night; other to-day from "In- 
spector of Kilrush;" come, oh come! Glove shop; Limerick 
gloves, scarcely any made now ; buy a pair of cloth gloves. 
N.B. Have mj^ gutta-percha shoes out soling with leather, gutta 
having gone like toasted cheese on the paving in the late hot 
weather ; right glad to have leather shoes again ! Breakfast 
bad : confused inanity of morning, settling, etc. ; about noon 
Duffy goes away for Galway, and I am to follow after a day. 
Foolish young Limerick philosopher — a kind of " Young Lim- 
erick " (neither Old nor Young Ireland), in smoking-room 
(wretched place), smokes with me while Duffy is packing to 
go ; showed me afterwards the locality of the Mitchel-and- 
Meagher tragi-comcdy, and ciceroned mo through the streets. 

Engineer De Vere not in his office when I called in the 
morning ; does not get return call. Quaker Unthank at 3^ p.m. ; 
lean triangular visage (kind of " chemist," I think), Irish ac- 
cent, altogether English in thought, speech, and ways. Rational 
exact man ; long before any other I could see in those parts. 
At four, according to appointment, Bourke's gig, with a lad : I 
decide to leave De Veredom then to itself : and from Lisnagry 
not look back. Have walked about Limerick what I could ; 
broad, level, strong new bridge, better kind of ships lying below 
it. Government Grants and works ; hear enough about these 
in reference to this Shannon concern ! River broad, deep I 
suppose, drab-colored, by no means over-beautiful. Back street, 
on hill-top, parallel to main one; here all the natives seem to 
congregate. Ragged turf-burning, turf-dealing, long narrow 
street ; Irish 7iaine of it forgotten. Other narrow turf-dealing, 
potato-and-eabhage dealing poor streets ; a crowded, dingy pop- 
ulation here; at length turn downwards again to loft — narrow- 
est of lanes (was that here ?) and drunk man with two poor 
women leading him — finally down to the river-side again ; I 
think, near a kind of island in it. Big dark-brown hulk of an 
edifice; what they call Cathedral — bless the mark! Police 
barrack, round fantastic kind of building, which was once some- 
thing far grander — some projector's folly (ruined savings-bank?) 
which I have now forgotten. Adieu to Limerick by a broad 
open road, with some miserable little peat carts on it, and nearly 
nothing else at all. Hardy, intelligent lad ; farmer's son on 
Sir Richard (Bourke's father's) ground; brother a schoolmaster ; 
family didnt famish in famine-time, having some rcsonrces; he 



himself is engaged with Sir R.'s " Scotchman " Mr. Meall (from 
John Mill's country, I afterwards found), " to learn farming," 
three years at 2s. 6d. a week. Very well. Sir Lucius O'Brien's 
place ; green, with wood shading the road near it. Lisnagry, 
"blind farmer" (only docks and nettles, pay no rents); one 
Browne's, who will turn them away now : " no fear of being 
shot " — was shot at ; got policeman, humor fallen now and less 
fear. Very ugly this particular spot. How a man "prints 
his image " here on the face of the earth ; and you have beauty 
alternating with sordid disordered ugliness, abrupt as squares 
in a chess-board ! So all over Ireland. Sir Richard, nor any 
Bourke, not here ; polite young Englishman visitor, in dish hat, 
steps out to do the honors ; at length young Bourke himself, 
old Bourke, two ladies (Mrs. and Miss — Scotch one of them, 
immemorable both) ; and the evening, in small polite parlor and 
dining-room, passes tolerably enough. Card from Engineer De 
Vere. Yes ; no matter now. Settle to abide here over the 
morrow, and, if I can, sleep, or at least lie horizontal all day ; 
next day with Bourke to Gort, and thence Galway. 

Wednesday, 25th July. — Sir Richd. Bourke, a fine old soldier, 
once Governor of New South Wales, man of seventy-five or 
eighty ; rises at six, but is not visible ; has his own hours, etc. 
Something still military, mildly arbitrary, in his whole household 
governiuent (I find), and ways of procedure. Interesting kind 
of old Irish-British figure. Lean, clean face, backed with sabre 
scars and bullet scars ; inextinguishably lively, gray bead-eyes, 
head snow-white ; low-voiced, steady, methodic, and practical in- 
telligence, looks through his existence here. Bought this place 
on his return, thirty years ago; a black bare bog then ; beauti- 
fully improved now, shaded with good wood, neat little house 
and offices, neat walks, sunk fences, drains and flourishing 
fields ; again the " stamp of a man's image." Dispensary, 
chapel, near the gate — already bare and unbeautiful there ; the 
" image " of the country and people there, not Sir R.'s image. 
I smoke and lounge about the grounds all morning, having 
breakfasted with " Master Richard," who is off to Limerick for 
the day. Welcome enough solitude. The two ladies kind and 
polite, ditto the young Englishman ; solitude is preferable. 

In the afternoon Sir Rd., I beside him on the box, drives us. 
Lord Clare's place the chief object ; large park, haymaking ; big 
block of a house ; gardens very greatly taken care of — women 
washing the greenhouse (Lordship just expected); quincunxes, 
foreign bushes, whirligigs ; thought of his Lordship what he 
was, and felt all this to be a kind of painful mockery for a soul 
so circumstanced. First Earl Clare (father) a Fitzgibbon, law- 
yer. Chancellor did the " Union ;" a sorry jobber (I supposed) ; 
son of a ditto, some squireen of trading talent ; and now it has 
come to this, as the finale ! Old soldier as gate-keeper ; Sir R. 
and he salute, as old friends. To O'Brien's bridge (by the low 
I'oad — woody, with occasional glimpses of the river) ; village, 
white ; lower end of it pretty, in the sunshine ; upper part of 
it squalid, deserted mostly : relief-work xos^i^half breadth cut 
away, and so left : duckwood ditches, drowned bog, inexpressi- 
bly ugly for most part, some cleared improved spot, abruptly 
alternating with the drowned squalor which produces only bad • 
brown stacks of peat. Sir Rd. in mild good-humor trots gently 
along. Two drunk blockheads stagger into a cross-road to be 
alone ; are seen kissing one another as we pass — just Heaven, 
what a kiss, with the drowned bog, and gaping full ditches on 
each hand ! Long meagre village, himgry single street — " Cas- 
tle Connell ?" Sir Richard's man has been at a fair with sheep 
(" Six-mile-bridge ?"), is met or overtaken here : " prices so and 
so, rather bad." Home ; wait for " master ;" dinner and even- 
ing have much sunk with me into the vague, and are not much 
worth recalling. Talk from Sir Richard about wonderful via- 
ducts, canals, and industrial joint-stock movements, seen and 
admired by himself, done during Louis Philippe's time. Good 
for something, then, that royal Ikey-Solomons? Most things 
are good for something ; out of a slain hero you will at least, 
if you manage his remains at all, got a few cart-loads more of 
turnip-fodder. Ach Gott ! Bed, I forgot how ; I had slept 
during forenoon for a little, and now slept better or worse 
again. 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



23 



Thursday, 26iA July. — Spent the morning, which was damp, 
yet with sunshine, in lounging about the shrubberies and wood- 
ed alleys; expccti'd Bourkc would liave been ready to set out 
before noon, instead of not till two p.m. or thereabouts, as it 
proved. Group of ragged solicitants, this morning and the 
last, hung about the frontdoor, in silence for many hours, wait- 
ing "a word with his Honor:" tattery women, young and old; 
one nigged able man ; liis Honor safe within (h)ors, they silent 
sitting or standing without, waiting his Honor's time; tacit 
bargain that no servant was to take notice of them, they not of 
him ; that was the appearance of it. Sad enough to look upon ; 
for the answer, at last, was sure to be " Can't ; have no work, 
no etc. for yon : sorry, but have none T Similar expectants in 
small numbers I had seen about Sir W. Beoclier's : probably 
they wait about most gentlemen's houses in Ireland in this sad 
time. Glanced over newspapers; at length out with young 
Bonrke (who is taking the " management," I find, his father 
surrendering as "too old"); went with him to the scene of 
Scotchman Meall's operations; scouring a big ditch, several 
men up to the knees throwing out duck-weed and bog mud — 
once a year. Wood around, and good crops, provided you 
keep the ditch scoured. All this region, by nature, execrable, 
drowned bog: let the cutting of turf by measure; turf once 
all cut away, attack the bottom with subsoil and other ploughs ; 
water carried off, prospers admirably. Meall a good solid An- 
gus man ; heavy Scotch qualities ; getting excellent farm-house 
and offices set up. Infested by rahhits, which eat young green- 
crop, young hedges (?) ; must have ferrets or weasels, and how? 
Meall's laborers " do very well if there is one set to look at 
them." Hasn't yet got them trained to work faithfully alone, 
though making progress in that direction. Home in haste from 
Meall's farm and nice new gooseberry garden — off actually at 
last. Limerick car long waiting. 

Up the river; hills of Clare, hills in Limerick County ; wide 
expanse, not without some savage beauty, far too bare, and too 
little of it absolutely green. Talk of Browne and his " blind 
farmers." Assassination of a poor old soldier he had sent to 
watch a certain farm ; ominous menace beforehand, then deed 
done, "done with an axe," no culprit discoverable. Killaloe, 
Bourke's house across the river among rather ragged woods. 
"City" (I think with some high old church-towers) standing 
high at the other end of the bridge, in dry trim country, at the 
foot of the long lough, was pleasant enough from the outside: 
one small skirt of it was all we travelled over. Lough now, 
with complex wooden and other apparatus for dispersing water ; 
part of the questionable " Navigation of the Shannon." Ques- 
tionable ; indeed everywhere in Ireland, one finds that the 
"government," far from stinginess in public money towards 
Ireland, lias erred rather on the other side ; making, in nil sea- 
sons, extensive hives for which the bees are not yet found. 
West side of Lough Derg: pleasant, smooth-dry, winding road. 
Clare hills stretching up, black-fretted, and with spots of cult- 
ure, all treeless to perhaps 1500 or 2000 feet, gradually enough, 
on the left. Greener high hills on the other side of lake with 
extensive slate quarries, cliief trade hereabouts. One Spaight 
of Limerick, able active man heard of before, works them ; re- 
sides here. " St. Patrick's Purgatory!" said Bonrke, pointing 
out a flat island, with black tower and architectural ruins: not 
so (as I found afterwards) : the Lough Derg of Purgatory (still 
a place of pilgrimage, where Duffy with his mother had been) 
is in Donegal ; smallish lough, some miles to right as we went 
from Sligo to town of Donegal. Hail shower, two policemen, 
on the terrace of the stony hills. A country that might all be 
very beautiful, but is not so ; is bare, gnarled, craggy, and 
speaks to you of sloth and insolvency. " When every place 
was no place, and Dublin was a shaking bog," Irish phrase for 
the beginning of time. " Sitting under de ditch, taking a blast 
of de pipe;" Scotch this too, all but ditch, which doesn't, as 
here, mean loall-icnce, but trench for fence or drain. 

Scariff ; straggling muddy avenues of wood begin to appear. 
Woman in workhouse yard, fever patient, we suppose ; had 
come flat, seemingly without pillow, on the bottom of a stone- 
cart; was lying now under blue cloaks and tatters, her long 
black hair streaming out beyond her — motionless, outcast, till 



they found some place for her in this hospital : grimmest of 
sights, with the long tattery cloud of black hair. Procession 
next of workhouse young girls; health}', clean, in whole coarse 
clothes; the only well-guided group of children visible to us in 
these parts — which, indeed, is a general fact. Scariff itself dim, 
extinct-looking, hungry village (l should guess 1000 inhabit- 
ants) on the top and steep sides of a rocky height. Houses 
seemed deserted, nothing doing ; considerable idle groups on 
the up[)er part (hill-top) of the street, which, after its maximum 
of elevation, spreads out into an irregular wide triangular space 
— two main roads going out from it, I suppose, towards (xort 
and towards Portumna. Little ferrety shopkeeper in whole 
clothes, seemingly chief man of the place, knows Bourkc by 
often passing this way. " Well, Mr. (O'Flanahan, say, though 
that was not it), do you think we can get a ear to Gort?" — 
" Not a car here, sir, to be had for love or money ; people all 
gone to adjourned assizes at Tulla, nayther horse nor ear left 
in the place !" Here was a precious outlook : Bourke, however, 
did not seem to lay it much to heart. "Well, Mr. O'Flanahan, 
then you must try to do something for us !" — " I will," cried 
the little stumpy ferret of a man ; and instantly despatched 
one from the group, to go somewhither and work miracles on 
our behalf. Miracle-worker returns with notice that a horse 
and car can (by miracle) be achieved, but horse will require 
some rest first. Well, well ; we go to walk ; see a car stand- 
ing ; our own old driver comes to tell us that he has discovered 
an excellent horse and car waiting for hire just next door to 
Mr. O'Flanahan's. And so it proved ; and so, in five minutes, 
was the new arrangement made; O'Flanahan acquiescing with- 
out any blush or other appearance of emotion. Merely a hu- 
man ferret clutching at game, hadn't caught it. Purchased a 
thimbleful of bad whiskey to mix in water in a very smoky 
room from him. " Odd copper, yours." — " Why, sir ?" and sent 
ardently for " change :" got none, however, nor spoke more of 
getting. Poor O'Flan., he had got his house new-floored ; was 
prospering, I suppose, by workhouse grocery-and-meal trade, by 
secret pawnbroking — by eating the slain. Our new car whisked 
us out of Scariff, where the only human souls I notice at any 
industry whatever were two, in a hungry-looking silent back 
corner languidly engaged in sawing a butt of extremely hard 
Scotch fir. 

Road hilly, but smooth ; country bare, but not boggy ; deep- 
ish narrow stream indenting meadows to our left just after 
starting — (mountain stream has made ruinous inundation since) 
— solitary cottages, in dry nooks of the hills : girl dripping at 
the door of one a potful of boiled reeking greens, has picked 
one out as we pass, and is zealously eating it ; bad food, great 
appetite ; extremity of hunger, likely, not unknown here ! Brisk 
evening becomes cloudier; top of the country — wide waste of 
dim liill country, far and wide, to the left: "Mountains of 
Clare." Bog round us now ; pools and crags : Lord Gort's 
Park wall, furze, pool, and peat-pot desolation just outside ; 
strong contrast within. Drive long, after a turn, close by this 
park : poor Lord has now a " receiver" on him ; lies out of hu- 
man vision now I Approach to Gort: Lord Si.imething-else 
(extinct now, after begetting many bastards) ; it was he that 
planted these ragged avenues of wood — not quite so ugly still 
as nothing; troublous huggermugger aspect, of stony fields 
and frequent (nearly all) bad houses, on both sides of the way. 
Haggard eyes at any rate. Barrack big, gloomy, dirty ; enter 
Gort at last. Wide street sloping swiftly ; the Lord Some- 
thing-else's house — quaintish architecture, is now some poor- 
house, subsidiary or principal ; Bourke, on the outlook, sees 
lady friend or cousin at window, looking for him too, and eager 
salutations pass. Deposits me in dim big greasy-looking hotel 
at the bottom of the street ; and goes — I am to joiu him (posi- 
tively !) at tea. 

Dim enough tea ; lady is poor-law inspector's sister, wife, or 
something. Poor-law inspector himself is Bishop Horsley's 
son (or else grandson ?) ; Dundee man, well enough and very 
hospitable, not a man to set the Thames on fire. Horrible ac- 
count of chief inn at Galway ; no good water attainable in Gal- 
way, no nothing almost! "Military ball has lately been at 
Gort ;" Gort too, in spite of pauperism's self, is alive ; " surgeon 



24 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



of the regiment a Dumfries man ?" well and good : ach Gott ! 
Home to bed ; snoring monster in some other room ; little 
sleep ; glad that it was not wholly none. [Be quick !] 

Fridioj, 21 tit Jul;/. — Up early enough, breakfast ditto; wait 
for Liinerick-and-Galway coach, due about 8 a.m. (or 9 1). Con- 
fused ragged aspect of the market-place, on which (a second 
long street here, falling into the main one from westward, but 
not crossing it) my windows look, my bedroom window has 
looked. Sour-milk firkins, sordid garbage of vegetables ; old 
blue cloaks on women, greasy-looking rags on most of the men 
— defacing the summer sun this fine morning ! Troop of cav- 
alry in undress file in from an easterly entrance — exercising 
their horses ; very trim and regular they. Good woman in 
silent tobacco-shop ; what strange unvisited islands do, not un- 
inhabited, lie in the big ocean of things! Chapel; people 
praying in it, poor wretches!/ Coach at last: amid tumult of 
porters, suddenly calling me, luggage already hoisted in, this 
man to pay and then that; Horsley too out saluting me, I do 
get aloft, and roll gladly away. 

Some green fields, even parks and trees, though rather rough- 
ish, and with barren hills beyond; this lasts for a mile or two: 
then fifteen miles of the stoniest, barest barrenness I have ever 
yet seen. Pretty youth mounts beside, polite enough in his 
air and ways, not without some wild sense ; " Connaught young 
gentleman," he too is something : on the bo-^c sits a fat Irish 
tourist in oilskin, beyond my own age ; eager to talk, has 
squireen tendencies ; no sense or too little ; don't. Connaught 
Rangers, 88th, memorable to me for repute of blackguardism 
in Dumfries : natives proud of them for prowess here. Big 
simple driver, ditto ditto guard : I think we had no further 
company, and in the inside there was none. Sjone cottages, 
stone hamlets, not nearly so ugly as you might have looked for 
in such a country — stony, bare, and desolate beyond expression. 
Almost interesting as the breezy sunshine lay on it: wide stony 
expanse, in some places almost like a continuous flagged floor 
of gray-white stone ; pick the stone up, build it into innumera- 
ble little fences, or otherwise shove it aside; the soil, when 
free or freed of water, seems sharp and good. Parks here and 
there, where wood has thriven : greenest islets in the sea of 
stone. Martin of Galway's representative in one ; Browne or 
Black (Blake) ; plenteous names these. English-Irish air in all 
our company, Redington's (secretary) draining, trenching, goes 
on here ; our stage, and I see that my writing-case u inside, 
beneath a big corn-bag. Galway bay, and promontory, where 
Gal way city is. Stones, stones — with greenest islets here and 
there. Oh for men, pickmen, spademen, and masters to guide 
them ! " Oranmore," with gray masses of old monastic archi- 
tecture. (Clanricarde's Castle this!) Silent as a tomb other- 
wise : not a hammer stirring in it, or a bootfall heard ; stagnant 
at the head of its sleeping tide-water. How on earth do the 
people live? Barest of roads towards Galway: dusty, lonely, 
flauked by ill-built dry stone walls, poor bare fields beyond. 
Pauper figures, and only a few, the women all with some red 
petticoat or something very red, plodding languidly hero and 
there under the bright noon; tatterdemalion phantasm, "piece 
of real Connaught," with some ragged walletkins on him, at a 
turn under some trees. Park/e<s, as if of Galway merchants; 
very green indeed, and wood growing bravely when once tried. 
Galway suburbs ; long row of huts, mostly or all thatched — 
true Irish houses. " Erasmus (Smith's school ;" young gentle- 
man knows of it ; to the right ; a big gaping house — in vaca- 
tion just now. Road always mounting, has now mounted, got 
into streets ; gets into a kind of central square — Duffy visible; 
hotel (all full of assize people) ; and here are letters for me, a 
Galway editor for guide," with car ready for yoking — and we 
must be in Tuam tkis evening. 

Letters read, we mount our car : straight steep streets, re- 
markable old city ; how in such a stony country it exists ! 
Port-wine and Spanish and French articles inwards, cattle out- 
wards, and scantlings of corn ; no other port for so many miles 



' His name Edward Butler, afterwards Attorney-general in New South 
Wales. 



of country; enough of stony country, even that will make a 
kind of feast. Inlet of river from Lough Corrib, the Conne- 
mara country : extensive government works here too. " God- 
less College," turreted gray edifice, just becoming ready ; editor 
warmly approves of it: Maynooth pupil this editor, a burly, 
thick-necked, sharp-eyed man — couldn't he a priest ; in secret 
counterworks Mcllale, as I can see, and despises and dislikes 
his courses and him. " Give them light :" no more a Protes- 
tant act than that " Maynooth grant." 

If the devil were passing through my country, and he ap- 
plied to me for instruction on any truth or fact of this universe, 
I should wish to give it him. He is less a devil knowing that 
3 and 3 arc 6, than if he didn't know it ; a light-spark, though 
of the faintest, is in this fact : if he knew facts enough, con- 
tinuous light would dawn on him ; he would (to his amaze- 
ment) nnderstand what this universe is, on what principles it 
conducts itself, and would cease to be a devil ! Workhouse, 
well enough for it — "human swinery ;" can't be bothered look- 
ing much at any more of them. Model farm or husbandry 
school; can't find time for it — sorry. "Piscatory school," 
means only school /or fishermen's children : in the Claddagh — 
whither now, past old sloop lying rotting in the river, along- 
granite quays, government works (hives without bees) ; and en- 
ter the school at last, and there abide mostly. Good school 
really, as any I saw, all Catholics — "can't speak English at 
Jirst;" "Dean Burke" not there, over in England; substitute, 
with undermaster and ditto mistress, handy Irish people, man 
and wife if I remember ; geography, etc., finally singing : and 
substitute goes out with us — "show you the 'Claddagh.'"' 
Complexity of silent narrow lanes, quite at the corner of the 
town, and clear of it, being over the river too ; kind of wild 
Irish community ; or savage poor republic trying still to sub- 
sist on fishing here. Dark, deep-sunk people, but not naturally 
bad. We look into many huts ; priestly schoolmaster, a brisk, 
frank, clever kind of man, knows Irish, seems to be free of 
them all. Petticoats, as usual, high-dyed, however dirty ; lilac, 
azure, especially red. Old woman at a live coal of languid 
turf ; likes " tay ;" net-weaving (though not entirely) is going 
on too : husbands all out at the fishing. The herrings are still 
here ? " i'^es, your riverence." — " Hope they stag till you get 
readg to catch them !" he answered. Claddagh as like Mada- 
gascar as England. A kind of charm in that poor savage free- 
dom ; had lately a revd. senior they called their "admiral" (a 
kind of real king among them), and priests and reverence for 
priests abound. Home to our editor's lodgings now (inn un- 
inhabitable for assize tumult): one "Councillor Walker" has 
been inquiring twice for me (editor has told me) ; I cannot 
yet recollect him for Petrie's and A. Sterling's " Chambers 
Walker," near Sligo, nor try much to make him out at all. 

Hospitable luncheon from this good editor, Duffy's sub-tii- 
tor now, I think; in great tumult, about 3^ p.m., in blazing 
dusty sun, we do get seated in the " Tuam car," quite full and 
— Walker recognizing me, inviting warmly both Duffy and me 
to his house at Sligo, and mounting up beside me, also for 
Tuam this night — roll prosperously away. Duffy had almost 
rubbed shoulders with Attorney - general Monahan, a rather 
sinister polite gentleman in very clean linen, who strove bard to 
have got him hanged lately, but couldn't, such was the bottom- 
less condition of the thing called "Law" in Ireland. Long 
suburb again, mostly thatched, kind of resemblance to " the 
Trench " near Dumfries. Bad seat mine, quite mider driver's, 
won't admit my hat, or hardly even my head ; Walker politely 
insists on exchanging when the horses change. Talk, talk from 
Wr. very polite, conciliatory, rational too, not very deep. Bare 
country ; not quite so stony as the morning's, not quite so bar- 
ren either. Romantic anecdote (murder? ghost? or what?) of 
a family that lived in some bare mansion visible to the left — 
totally forgotten now. Country flattens, gets still more feat- 
ureless; "John of Chume's" Cathedral tower; "little influence 
John of Chumc;" anecdotes of some Roman -Irish bishop 
and him; Tuam itself, happily, and dismount, about 7 p.m. ; rev- 
erence of landlady to Duffy ; tea. Walker joining us ; walk 
out, McHale's big, not beautiful Cathedral (towers Kke pots 
with many ladles); back of McHale premises, "College," or 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



25 



■wliatcver he calls it, outer staircase wants parapet ; ruinous 
cnouu'li — this is St. Jarlath's, then? If we go into the street, 
the Protestant bishop's house stands right opposite too. Across 
then to Protestant cathedral; old, very good — don't go in. 
Ancient cross, half of it, is here, other half (root or basis of it) 
is at McHale's, standing on the open circuit there : " Judgment 
of Solomon has not answered for ikese two motliers !" On 
emerging, a crowd has gathered for Duflfy's .sake ; audible mur- 
mur of old woman there, " Yer Hanar's wiloome to Chume!" 
Brass band threatening to get up, simmering crowd in the 
street ; a letter or so written ; get off to bed — high up mine, 
and not one of the best in nature! 

Satunhn/, 28/A Jtil>/. — Hostlers, horses, two rattling win- 
dows, finally cocks and geese; these were one's lullabies in 
" Chume ;" outlook on the ugly McHale Cathedral, and inter- 
vening lime-patched roofs, at present moist with windy rain : 
poor Duffy, in his front " best bedroom," hadn't slept at all. 
Hurried breakfast in the gray morning, seven a.m. ; Bill — N.B. 
Bill came to us at Sliffo, unsettled still, the innkeeper said ; 
and Duffy, with surprise, paid it there too, uncertain whether 
not a second time ! Walker is out, bound for Sligo at an after- 
hour; appoints us thither for Monday evening. Squabbling of 
lady passenger about being cheated of change by some porter 
or boots; confused misarrangement, and noise more or less on 
all hands, as usual ; windy Scotch mist, coming down occasion- 
ally in shower ; off at length, thank Heaven, towards Castlebar 
and Westport, faliter quatiter. Watery fields, ill-fenced, rushes, 
rubbish; country bare and i/Zr/y-looking; weather rather darken- 
ing than improving. Sira])le big Irishman on coach-roof be- 
side me; all in (/ray-hlanlcet, over all; some kind of corn or 
butter-trader, I suppose ; as well-dressed kind of natives are very 
apt to be. "Father has taken the Ballina workhouse contract" 
said one (who got up, farther forward on the road); "taken 
it," Indian-meal at so-and-so. There is something entertaining 
too in a region of unadulterated professed ugliness ? Ride by no 
means- uncomfortable in the Scotch mist (wind to left and rear), 
with outlook over ill -tilled bare and ragged expanses, road 
flanked sometimes with beggarly Scotch firs. 

Man holding up a fiery peat in a pair of tongs ; stop to 
change horses; fiery peat is for the guard, who leans forward 
with (dodeen) pipe, r/ood-natured Gorgon face, weighed down 
with laziness, age, and fat : smack, smack ! intense sucking, 
'bacco being wet, and the saliva came in dew-drops on the big 
outcurled lips; poor old fellow, he got his pipe to go at last, 
and returned the tongs and peat by flinging them away. What 
a pre-established harmony, this of the fiery peat and the Gor- 
gon guard ! Bright through the Scotch mist of the future, this 
fiery peat gleams beacon-like on his soul ; there burns for him 
a little light of hope. Duffy is inside, lady passenger (of the 
cheating boots), and some poor young gentleman with the 
bones of his leg broken. Perhaps we didn't change horses at 
the fiery peat ; but only delivered and received parcels there ? 
Next halt there was a change ; a great begging, too, by old 
sibyl woman ; a mounting of one or more (grain dealing ?) pas- 
sengers with fine dresses, with bad broken umbrellas. The 
morning is getting wetter ; stormf ul, dashes of heavy showers 
as we approach Castlebar; road running, and red streamlets in 
the ditches on either side. Duffy has proposed that we shall 
stop at Castlebar, and give up Westport ; overruled. " Holly- 
mount," pleasant-looking mansion, with lawns and groves on 
the left ; letter to the owner, but didn't think of delivering it. 
Lord Lucau's close by Castlebar and on the other side of it too : 
has cleared his ground (crnel monster! cry all people); but is 
draining, building, harrowing, and leasing ; has decided to make 
this ugly land avail, after clearing it. Candor must admit that 
here is a second most weighty consideration in his favor, in ref- 
erence to those " evictions." First-rate new farmstead of his, 
Scotch tenant (I think), for peasants that will work there is em- 
ployment here ; Lord Lncan is moving, at least, if all others lie 
motionless rotting. Castlebar in heavyish rain; town-green; 
confusion of confusions, at the edge of that, and looking down 
the main street ; while they tumble the luggage, rearrange them- 
selves, put out the poor broken-legged gentleman at the hospi- 



tal (rain now battering and pouring), and do at last dash forth 
towards Westport. 

Wind and rain now right ahead ; prefer this to stew of in- 
side ; Lord Lucan's husbandry seen to each side from under 
umbrella^ with satisfaction, though not unmixed. Gigantic 
drain; torn through a blue u'hinstone range of knolls, and 
neatly fenced with stone and mortar ; drippings of the abomi- 
nable bog (which is all round, far and wide, ugly as chaos), 
run now through it as a brown brook. Abominable bog, thou 
shalt cease to be abominable, and become subject to man ! 
Nothing else worth looking at; dirty hungry cottages, in 
groups or single; bog generally, or low -lying rnshy wet 
ground, with a storm of heavy rain beating it — till certain 
heights, which overlook Westport. Gorgon guard's face pours 
water from every angle — careless he, as if it had been an old 
stone face ; — talks busily, nonsense, what I heard of it, with 
some foolish passenger, the only one now. Distressed gigs; 
one distressed gig ; riders and it running clear with wet. To- 
bacco remains to one ! Heights at last ; Westport big, sub- 
&ia.\A\a\-looking {Front l nulla fdes f) ; "Croagh Patrick" big 
mountain-cone amid tumbling cloud masses, glimpses too of 
the bay, all close at hand now ; and swiftly down-hill we ar- 
rive, get to our inn (flaring hotel, fit for Burlington Street by 
look), and, in about three quarters of an hour of confused wait- 
ing and vicissitude, pet our luggage, and begin to think of see- 
ing the people I had lettere for. Waiter despatched accord- 
ingly ; people gone, people etc. — One little Captain Something, 
an intelligent commonplace little Englishman (just about to 
quit this horrid place, and here for the second time) does at- 
tend us, takes us to Westport Workhouse, the wonder of the 
universe at present. 

Human swinery has here, reached its arme, happily : .30,000 
paupers in this union, population supposed to be about 60,000. 
Workhouse proper (I suppose) cannot hold above three or four 
thousand of them ; subsidiary workhouses, and out-door relief 
the others. Abomination of desolation ; what can you make 
of it ! Out-door qxmsi-work : three or four hundred big hulks 
of fellows tumbling about with shares, picks, and barrows, 
"levelling" the end of their workhouse hill. At first glance 
you would think them all working ; look nearer, in each shovel 
there is some ounce or two of mould, and it is all make-be- 
lieve ; five or six hundred boys and lads, pretending to break 
stones. Can it be a charity to keep men alive on these terms? 
In face of all the twaddle of the eartJi, shoot a man rather than 
train him (with heavy expense to his neighbors) to be a de- 
ceptive human swine. Fifty-four wretched mothers sat rock- 
ing young offspring in one room : voffue la galere. " Dean 
Bourke" (Catholic priest, to whom also we had a letter) turns 
up here: middle-aged middle-sized figure, rustyish black coat, 
Hessian boots, white stockings, good-humored, loud-speaking 
face, frequent Lnndyfoot snuff. A mad pauper woman shrieks 
to be towards him ; keepers seize her, bear her off shrieking. 
Dean, poor fellow, has to take it " asy," I find — how otherwise? 
Issuing from the workhouse, ragged cohorts are in waiting for 
him, persecute him with their begging: "Get along wid ye!" 
cries he, impatiently, yet without ferocity. "Doun't ye see 
I'm speaking wi' the gintlemen ! Arrah, thin ! I don't care if 
ye were dead!" Nothing remained but patience and Lnndy- 
foot snuff for a poor man in these circumstances. Wherever 
he shows face, some scores, soon waxing to be hundreds, of 
wretches beset him ; he confesses he dare not stir out except 
on horseback, or with some fenced park to take refuge in : 
poor I)ean Bourke ! Lord Sligo's park, in this instance. But 
beggars still, one or two — have climbed the railings, got in by 
the drains? Heavy square mansion ("1770" architecture): 
Lord Sligo going to the Killeries, a small lodge he has to the 
south — no rents at all. I hear since "he has nothing to live 
upon but an opera-box;" literally so (says Milnes) — which he 
bought in happier days, and now lets.—" Croagli Patrick, 
won't ye go to it ?" Bay — Clew Bay— has a dim and shallow 
look hereabouts; "beautiful prospects." — Yes, Mr. Dean ; but, 
alas, alas! Duffy and I privately decide that we will have 
some luncheon at our inn, and quit this citadel of mendicancy, 
intolerable to gods and man, back to Castlebar this evening. 



26 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



Brilliant rose-pink landlady, reverent of Duflfy (proves to be a 
sister, daughter perhaps, of the "Chiitne" one), is very sorry; 
but — etc. No bells in your room ; bell often enough broken 
in these sublime establishments of the West of Ireland. Bou- 
quet to Duffy — mysteriously handed from unknown young 
lady, with verso or prose note; humph! humph!- — and so 
■without accident, in now bright hot afternoon, we take leave 
of Croagh Patrick (devils and serpents all collected there. Oh, 
why isn't there some Patrick to do it now again !), and, bab- 
bling of "literature" (not by my will), perhaps about 5 p.m. 
arrive at Castlebar again, and (for D.'s sake) are reverently 
welcomed. 

Tea. Irish country priest, very soft youth, wonderfully like 
one of our own green parsons fresh from college ; the only one 
I saw of that sort. Out to the Inspector's, Capt. Something, 
for whom I have a letter: Strelezki there, whom we had seen 
at Westport too, talk-talking with his bell - voice, and unim- 
portant semi-humbug meaning. " Strelezki is coming !" all the 
natives, with inconceivable interest, seemed whispering to one 
anotlier ; a man with something to give is coming ! This Cap- 
tain, in his dim lodging, a considerably more intelligent young 
man (30 or so) ; talk — to breakfast with him to-morrow. 

Westport Union has £1100 a week from government (pro- 
portion rate-in-aid), Castlebar has £800, some other has £1300, 
etc., etc. ; it is so they live from week to week. Poor-rates, 
collectible, as good as none (£28. 14 0. say the books) : a 
peasant will keep his cow for years against all manner of cess- 
collection. Spy-children ; tidings run, as bv electric wires, that 
a cess-collector is out, and all cows are huddled under lock and 
key — «Mattainable for years. No rents ; little or no stock left, 
little cultivation, docks, thistles; landlord sits in his mansion, 
for reasons, except on Sunday : we hear of them " living on 
the rabbits of their own park." Society is at an end here, with 
the land uncultivated, and every second soul a pauper. " So- 
ciety " here would have to eat itself, and end by cannibalism in 
a week, if it were not held up by tlie rest of our empire still 
standing afoot! Home through the damp streets (not bad 
streets at all, and a population still partly clothed making its 
Saturday markets) ; thimbleful of punch over peat tire or 
ashes, whiff of tobacco, and bed. 

Sunday, 2Qth July. — Breakfast with Capt. Farrar (that was 
the name) ; sharp, distinct, decisive young soldier ; manfully 
or patient and active in his hopeless position here. On my re- 
turn, Duffy has been at mass and sermon. Priest reproving 
practices on "patron days" (pilgrimages, etc., which issue now 
in whiskey mainly), with much good-sense, says Duffy. Car 
to Ballina {Bally is place, vallum) ; drivers, boots, etc., busy 
packing. Tuam coach (ours of yesterday) conies in ; there 
rushes from it, shot as if by cannon from Yorkshire or Morpeth 
without stopping, W. E. Forster!" very blue-nosed, but with 
news from my wife, and with inextinguishable good - humor. 
He mounts with us almost without reflection, and we start for 
Ballina ; public car all to ourselves ; gloomy hulks of moun- 
tains on the left ; country ill-tilled, some w«tilled, vacant, and 
we get upon wide stony moorland, and come in sight of the 
desolate expanses of " Lough Con." 

Police-barrack, excise-barrack, in a loop of the mountain 
washed by the lake. Picturesque sites, in nooks and on knolls ; 
one ruined cottage in a nook (belongs to Lord Lucan), treeless, 
yet screened from winds, nestled among the rocks, and big lake 
close by : why couldn't / get it for a hermitage ! Bridge (I 
think there must have been), and two loughs. Inexpressible 
solitude, unexampled desolation ; bare gray continent of crags, 
clear sea of fresh-water ; some farms and tufts of wood (one 
mournful ruined-looking place, which was said to be a burying- 
ground and monastic ruin) visible far off, and across the lake 
always. Clear blue sky, black showery tempests brewing oc- 
casionally among the hills. Brother car meets us, brief dialogue, 
among the crags; little pug-nosed Irish figure in Sunday 
clothes, had been escorting a comrade, mounts now beside 
Duffy — proves to be a tailor, I think. Account by him, inex- 



'The present Chief Secretary for Ireland. 



pressibly vague, of certain neighboring localities. " Arclib. 
McHale," "John of Chume," was born hereabouts; peasant- 
farmer's son. Given a vivacious greedy soul, with this grim 
outlook, vacant of all but the eternal crags and skies, and for 
reading of life's huge riddle an Irish Mass-book only — one had 
a kind of glimpse of "John of Chume"— poor devil, after all ! 
Ballina ; immense suburb of thatched huts again ; solid, broad, 
unexpectedly handsome main street ; corn-factors, bacon-fac- 
tors, land-agents (attorneys, in their good days, must have done 
it) ; halt at the farther end, close by a post-office, and a huge 
hungry -looking hotel, or perhaps two hotels ; into one of which 
— the wrong one surely if there was a choice — we are ushered, 
and in the big greasy public room find a lieut. of foot busy 
smoking. 

"Private room" very attainable, but, except for absence of 
tobacco, not much more exquisite; in fact, this poor hotel was 
the dirtiest in our Irish experience ; clearly about bankrupt, as 
one would see. But the poor waiters, the poor people all, wore 
civil ; their poverty gave them even a kind of dignity — the 
gray-bearded head-waiter's final bow next day (disinterested 
bow) is still pathetic for me. Certain Hamiltons, inspectors ; 
the Captain H. an Ulster man ; big cheeks and black iearf-eyes ; 
Calvinist philanthropist ; a really good, but also really stupid, 
man. Write in my back bedroom ; annoyed by gusts of bra- 
vura-sinyiny (Sunday not the less) from the lieut. of foot ; sor- 
row on him, and yet pity on him ! To workhouse, to work- 
houses, with Bead-eye ; subsidiary workhouses these ; boys 
drilling — discharged soldier : one of the drill-sergeants, begs 
for something of the nature of "shoes" when it is done. 
"There is Cobden, you see?" said poor bead-eyed Hamilton; 
discharged that man, and now he comes upon ns f" Kindness 
a la Exeter Hall ; this, with strict Calvinism for life-theory, is 
H.'s style. A thatched subsidiary workhouse this; all for the 
children : really good, had the children been getting bred tow- 
ards anything but pauperism .' — pauperism in geometrical pro- 
gression. Dinner of perhaps five hundred of them — girls, I 
think. " Och, sur, it's /our years I've been here, and this little 
girl isn't well yet !" Four years : what a kindness to us, to 
stay so long! W^hat she now wanted with this girl ? "To get 
her taken to the salt-water " — a small allowance for that. Bru- 
tallest stupidity can hardly be more brutal than these human 
swineries had now grown to seem to me. Dormitories, etc. — 
a street nearly all in ruins beside this admirable place; popula- 
tion of it gone to workhouse, to England, to the grave. Other 
subsidiary workhouse; continents of young women; really 
whole big roomfuls of them (for it was now raining) waiting 
for dinner. Home with disgust ; to have tea with Hamilton 
in the evening at his house. 

After dinner, walk towards his house ; moist windy evening, 
rain has cea.sed. Correct little house, good and hospitable 
man ; tries to convince me of philanthropy ; pauses horror- 
struck. I decide (in my own mind) that the less of this the 
better. He (I found afterwards) asks Duffy privately " if I am 
an atheist or what?" Hospitable promise to go and show us a 
" country of evictions " on the morrow ; we shall see ! and so 
home to bed. It was going towards his house that a man 
(Sundayed workman) caught Duffy's hand, and reverently shook 
it with apologies. 

Monday, 30ih July. — Worst of Irish beds, worst of Irish 
nights (noise, etc.), does finally end. At breakfast Hamilton 
is punctual and appears : " Not me, thank you kindly," and the 
rest also didn't go — or only Forster of the rest, and at some 
other hour. Through the streets with my two inspectors 
(Hamilton and his cousin the "Belmullet" inspector, a simple 
watery man with one arm, Mrs. Dr. Evory Kennedy's brother), 
towards the workhouse. " The Scotch Shop," so called ; a 
Glasgow thing, has propagated itself hither from Sligo; dull 
Scotchman, " Never so bad a trade as now ;" building, furnish-, 
ing of workhouses, always some money going till now ; his 
brother has taken a farm hereabouts (rent seemed high with 
such pauperism) ; his shag tobacco (nearly unknown in Ireland) 
is very dear and very bad ; adieu to the Scotch Shop, and him ! 
Dulse in Ballina street market; comes from Belniullet, I hear; 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



2T 



jjathered there, carted hither, forty - two miles; sold for 2s. 
iicro ! Wretched huckster, who has no better industry, subsists 
his Ejarrun upon the wayside, lodges with some fellow -poor 
man ; goes his eighty -four miles, on these terms, and takes to 
gathering new dulse. ^Vas such industry ever lieard of before 
in this world ? Not this poor huckster is to blame for it, first 
of all; not he first. O heavens! innumerable mortals are to 
blame for it ; which quack of us is not to blame for it ? — Look 
into the areas of the workhouse Avith bead-eyed friend ; then, 
for his sake and for my own, I decline to go farther; return to 
inn, where at least is a sofa, where tobacco and solitude are 
possible. Car is to go about two o'clock, and I am due at Sligo 
to-night. DufEy, finding certain "Dillons" here, decides finally 
to stay ; Forster too stays, flying about in an uncertain way. 
Col. Something, a great " exterminator " Jiercabouts, and a great 
improver also ; that is he, riding into town : stubborn, unculti- 
vated, big red-haired face, and solid military figure, from fifty 
to sixty; not the worst of Ballina men ho. Glimpse of Bourke, 
with note from somebody (from the Tralee gentleman it was, 
who had been "absent at Valentia") — glimpse of Dufl^y and 
Dillons ; away then, away ! 

First part of our route, moory, at first some symptoms of 
plantation and improvement, by-and-by none. Col. Something 
(Gort's ?) evictions, long ghastly series of roofless cottages visi- 
ble enough; big drain, internal, was not visible: poor groom 
sitting by me on the car was eloquent as to Col.'s " cruelty ;" 
Col. himself, I understand, asserts that his people went away 
voluntarily, money and resource being wholly run out. Beg- 
gar cottagers need to be supported by public rate ; whether the 
rate is paid them in cottages or in workhouse is really not so 
material as the second question, " What becomes of their land, 
they having ceased to cultivate it? Gort and Lucan answer? 
Their land becomes arable, will be ploughed in all coming 
years! Not so bad, surely. My groom gets off; his master 
most humane thrice-excellent old Dublin gentleman, driving up 
now with son-in-law, daughter, etc., in gig; "no evictions" 
there, no, no ! Son-in-law, fat young gentleman, had a dish-hat, 
as usual ; dish-hats drab-colored, black, brown, and even green 
universal wear of young gentlemen here, and indeed in all 
country parts (Scotland and England too) at present. Flat, flat, 
waste of moor; patches of wretched oats — then peat bogs, 
black pools; the roofless cottages not far off at any time. Po- 
tatoes — poor cottier digging his little plot of them, three or 
four little children eagerly "gathering" for him: pathetic to 
look upon. From one cottage on the wayside issue two chil- 
dren, naked, to beg ; boy about thirteen, girl about twelve, 
"naked" literally, some sash of rag round middle, oblique-sash 
over shoulder to support that ; stark-naked would have been as 
decent (if you had to jump and run as these creatures did) and 
much cleanlier. Dramatic, I talvc it, or partly so, this form of 
begging : " stri}^ for your parts, tliere is the car coming !" Gave 
them nothing. 

Stage: " Dromore " (?), little hamlet; country alters here; 
sun too is out ; beautiful view of the sea, of Sligo Bay with 
notable mountains beyond, and high (limestone) dry hills on 
our right too ; much indented coast, circuitous road for Sligo, 
but decidedly a pleasant region, with marks of successful cul- 
tivation everywhere, though still too treeless (and full of beg- 
gary below board, as we afterwards found). Small young lady 
from Dromore going on visit to Sligo, her parasol a little in- 
terrupts my view; "bay of" something (" Ballisadare," it 
would seem) on this side of Sligo Bay : high fine hill between 
the two — north side of that, it turns out, is Walker's house. 
Sligo at last; beautiful descent into it, beautiful town and 
region altogether. Down, down, to the river-bunk, then halt a 
little to right ; Mr. Walker, with servant and nice neat car, is 
waiting : how charitable to tlie dusty, heart-broken soul of a 
pilgrim from his car! No ho-st can do a kinder thing than 
deliver a poor wretch in these circumstances, save him from 
porters, inn-waiters, and the fatal predatory brotherhood ! Up, 
some three miles; then on a pleasant shelf of the big hill or 
mountain "Knocknarea," dividing Sligo from the other bay; 
a trim fertile little estate, beautifully screened and ornamented 
(or soon about to be so) ; a neat little country-house, and ele- 



gant welcome : thanks, thanks ! Elaborate dinner, however, 710 
dish of which dare I eat; salmon, veal, lamb, and that is all! 
Cold beef supplies every want. Excellent quiet bedroom ; to 
bed utterly done, almost sleeping for an hour before I got away. 

Tuesday, Z\st July.— Fine morning, fine outlook over Sligo, 
bay, city, mountain ; around us pretty walks and garden, with 
farm improvements fast progressing, behind us the mountain 
rises trim and green, on the top of it an ancient cairn, con- 
spicuous from afar — which Petrie asserts gravely to be the 
"Grave of Queen Mab"— some real old Irish "queen," who 
had grown in the popular fancy to be this ! Good Petrie, he 
is much loved here, but there was no chance of warning him of 
me in time. Drive to Sligo now ; find Duffy and Forster just 
arrived, and eating luncheon at their inn ; go along to visit 
workhouse, to visit Lough Gill : they two to dine with us at 
night. Whether Duffy wont with us to Lough Gill ("Wynne" 
of Ilazelwood) I don't recollect ; rather think yes ; but if so, he 
stayed behind us, and came up with Forster? [Important in- 
deed!] Dinner was altogether polite and pleasant; Forster 
went about 11; then bed, and hospitable Walker will have us 
in town before six to-morrow, on our road towards Donegal, 
where these tourings are to end. 

Beauties of "Ilazelwood" (where Forster meets us in a car 
of his own) are very considerable ; really fine lake (the Lough 
Gill itself), wide undulating park, umbrageous green-swarded, 
silent big house ; pleasure-boats on lower arm of Lough, and 
queer little windmill ptmip ; very good indeed. " Wynne, 
Esq. ;" who has this day been stirring up a row among the 
butter-merchants, breaking their monopoly, and stirring up 
their noise. Ilis tenants complained, " 6(/. per lb. a dreadful 
price :" get your firkins ready, full of good butter, and / will 
give you real Liverpool prices: hinc lachrymce ; what the issue 
was, I never heard. Of workhouse, eighteen hundred strong, 
say nothing: heavy, fat-flabby but solid English ex-military 
man for manager; wide (idle-looking) school: group of wan- 
dering gentlemen; (one of Rathnnillen, on Lough .Swillv) to 
whom we had a letter, a dark-yellow, lean long figure ; " most 
anxious," etc., //we will come; but till Saturcky he cannot be 
at home, and none knows whether that will answer. Sligo and 
cholera ? Telluric or atmospheric the influence : by no means 
a dirty town ; the reverse, in comparison. Talk of the " Ce- 
vigna Mines," rich in coal and iron, say richest ; not worked, 
company once, first manager — shot ; second manager sent to 
Chancery; mines sleep till "governmenl" make some canal or 
do something. Relief-works in Sligo ; steep street a little 
levelled ; what to do with the mould? Throw it into the river ! 
" Upon my salmon ?" eagerly objects one. It is at last carted 
far away. Elder Walker one of the Presentment Justices in 
relief time; we voted away £28,000 one morning ("English 
have plenty of money ") ; terribly indignant now that they 
should demand payment of one half of it ; " had we known 
that!" — a miserable business this of the famine works and re- 
lief works altogether ; sad proof that in Ireland is no organic 
government, and in England no articulate ditto: a ditto, 
presided over by Lord John Russell only and the element of 
parliamentary palaver ! Part of Sligo belongs to Lord Palm- 
erston; I didn't learn, or ask, which part. 

Wednesday, 1st August. — Up at five, forwarded in all ways 
by kind, hospitable Walker (to whom, farewell kindly), car at 
the car-stand in Sligo, before six of the sunny morning. " Ga- 
vognc " (dammed up here?) gurgling past as a considerable 
stream, and breweries, etc., on the other side. Beggars, beg- 
gars ; only industry really followed by the Irish people. " For 
the love of God, ycr Ilanar !" etc., etc. — " Wouldn't it be worth 
your consideration, whether you hadn't better drown or hang 
yourselves than live a dog's life in this way ?" They withdrew 
from me in horror; did at least withdraw! Judicious con- 
fusion of loading luggage. Car full to overflowing. Sligo wit 
— " Go home, and shave yourself !" — " Sure, I'm not so ugly 
as you, shaved or not !" (Fat gross fellow — some bacon- 
dealer, I suppose, got this wit-arrow, ohone !) Away at last ; 
all jammed together; steep nps and downs; horses hardly can, 



28 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY.. 



won't at one place, and we have to dismount. Bacon-dealer 
next me, Duffy on my right, tall old cleanly peasant jammed 
under Forster and driver beyond; Sligo Bay, and bright sea, 
with inoory mountainous capes in front of us. Lord Palmer- 
.ston's country; some draining visible; much had been heard 
of; ugly, bare, moory country; would one were out of it all, 
as we now soon shall be ! Donegal Mountains blue-black over 
Donegal Bay far westward to Teelin Head. Dingy, desolate- 
looking country, in spite of the fine, calm morning. " Killi- 
begs," and some coast-guard station, the only sign of inhabit- 
ancy. Cleanly peasant, at sight of some new locality, " breaks 
out into narrative;" is, at least was, a coast-guard; had 07ice a 
notable adventure seizing, or trying to seize, some smuggler 
there — minute particulars of it ; for thirty years seems to have 
done nothing else but merely " look out," the one peopled 
point in his old memory. Particulars from him of coast-guard 
discipline and ways; well-done excise; when a thing is to be 
done, it can be done. Bathing lodgings, getting ruinous many 
of them (potato-failure has stopped supplies); good shore for 
bathing, and individuals (to one's envy) are now seen swashing 
about in the act; blue brine and sandy shore, etc., in Leitrim 
County ; said once, for a moment, to be " in Fermanagh " 
(mistake probably?). Ruined Castle (where?), " Four Mas- 
ters " did their compilation there ; recollect the old black hulk 
of ruins — think it might be in Donegal County, further on. 
Bathing hamlets, ditto houses, lodges {once ornamental) ; lime 
and whitewash, very abundant, cannot hide ruin. " Bundoran," 
cleanish, high -lying village, headquarters of bathing; bacon- 
dealer — runs to sec a sick friend. Car waits for him ; drink of 
water? Effort, by shopkeeper or car clerk — think I got it, 
though after despairing. Sea, and Donegal, and Killibegs 
abroad ; moory raggedness with green patches near, all treeless 
— nothing distinct till steep narrow street of " Ballyshannon;" 
mills, breweries, considerable, confused, much whitewashed 
country town. Breakfast, as if for the king's hundred, near 
the higher end. Tourists, quasi-English, busy at our table al- 
ready : silent exct. waiter, doing his swiftest in imperturbable 
patience and silence. Car gone; we have to climb the steep, 
at the top it will wait for us. And so to the road again, quit- 
ting Ballyshannon; only Duffy, Forster, and I, of our car, 
did breakfast there. 

Day now growing hotter, road dustier; remember nothing 
or little till Donegal : a Mr. Hamilton (?) has embanked some 
lagoon, saved many acres, gives real symptoms of being busy 
as a king of tillers in that quarter. Country improving ; 
liedges even, and some incipiencies of wood shelter and orna- 
ment. Donegal a dingy little town ; triangular market-place ; 
run across to see O'Neill's old mansion ; skeleton of really 
sumptuous old castle — Spanish gold, in Queen Elizabeth's 
time, had helped : by one of the three angles (there is a road 
by each) we got away again ; dropping Forster, who will see 
the lagoon-embanker (didn't find him), will then by Glentier to 
Gweedore, and meet me there. Duffy is for Derry, and we 
part at Stranorlar ; I, by appointment, am for Lord George 
Ilill's, and have a plan of route from Plattnauer. P>are miser- 
able country ; dingy Donegal has workhouses building, pitch 
employed there, no other masonry; sleepy valley with some 
trees and green patches spreading up into the sleepy mountains; 
high ground towards Gap of Barnesmore becomes utter peat. 
Barnesmore I remember well ; nothing of a " Gap " to speak 
of ; Dalveen Pass, and several unheeded Scotch ones, far sur- 
pass it in " impressivencss :" important military pass, no doubt. 
Moor, moor,_ brown heather, and peat-pots; here and there a 
speck reclaimed into bright green — and the poor cottier often- 
est gone. Ragged, sprawling, bare farmstead, bright green 
and black alternating abruptl}^ on the grounds and no hedge 
or tree ; ugly enough. And now from the moor-edge one sees 
" Stranorlar" several miles off, and a valley mostly green, not 
exemplary for culture, but most welcome here. Down towards 
it — Duffy earnestly talking, consulting, questioning; pathetic, as 
looking to the speedy end now. Down into the valley ; fat 
heavy figure, in gray coarse woollen, suddenly running with us, 
sees me, says " all r-ight 1" It is poor Plattnauer, who has 
come thus far to meet me ! we get him up ; enter through the 



long outskirts of "Stranorlar," up its long idle-looking street, 
to coach-stand ; and there Duffy stretching out his hand, with 
silent sorrowful face, I say " Farewell," and am off to Platt- 
nauer's little inn ; and consider my tour as almost ended. 
After an hour, of not very necessary waiting (lunch, smoking, 
etc., provided by the kind Plattnauer), wo get the car he has 
hired for me from Letterkenny, and proceed thither. 

Fourteen miles; a tilled country mostly, not deficient here 
and there in wood ; ragged still, though greatly superior to late 
wont ; recognize the Ulster dialect of carman, Ulster practice 
of the population generally. Talk — burdensome, had there 
been much of it? Mountains about Gweedore, details (eulogis- 
tic, enthusiastic) of Lord George llill ; three men (officialities 
of some kind), excise or other, with dish -hats, before us in 
their car ; road now rapidly winding downwards ; pass them at 
last; can bethink of 710 other road-fellow whatever. Country 
greenish, for most part, with gnarled crags; I should have ex- 
pected ferns in the ditches, but don't remember them. Mill- 
pond at the bottom of our descent, then long slow ascent up 
Letterkenny Street — broad, sometimes rather ragged-looking, 
always idle-looking — busy only on market-days, with corn and 
cattle, I suppose. Hotel at last, and carman satisfied ; a grate- 
ful change into Lord George's car. To Ballyarr then I Now 
towards six or seven o'clock. Long, mile — long, straight, steep 
ascent; then complex cross-roads " to Rathmelton," to etc.; 
country commonplace, hill-and-dale, not quite bare. At length 
Ballyarr, clump of wood; high rough hedges, gates, farm-look- 
ing place ; and round the corner of some offices wc come to an 
open smooth kind of back court, with low piazza at the further 
side: from below piazza, then at the back entrance (the only 
handy one to his mansion). Lord George himself politely steps 
out to welcome us. Handsome, grave-smiling man of fifty or 
more ; thick grizzled hair, elegant club nose, low cooing voice, 
military composure and absence of loquacity ; a man you love 
at first sight. Glimpse of Lady (Georgina ?) Hill, a nunlike 
elderly lady, and of one or two nice silent children ; silent 
small elegant drawing-room ; a singular silent politeness of ele- 
ment reigns; at length refection in a little dining-room (tea, I 
suppose ?), and, in a bare but clean and comfortable room, pre- 
sided over by the Great Silences, one sinks gratefully asleep. 
Gweedore on the morrow like an ?<reopened scroll lying before. 
I bethink me, we walked out, too, that evening. Lord George, 
Plattnauer, and I, with pleasant familiar talk; and for supper, 
after our return, he ordered me Irish stirabout, a fiightful par- 
ody of " Scotch porridge" (like hot dough), which I would not 
eat, and even durst not, except in seinblance. Deep ditches, 
gross kind of crop; potatoes, turnips, "Egyptian wheat" (so 
called, grown from wlieat found in mummy) ; land has original- 
ly been, much of it even lately, flat bog. 

Thursday, 'id August. — Dim, moist morning ; pleasant break- 
fast (Lady Augusta (?), who has a baby, not there); paternal 
wit of Lord G. with his nice little modest boys and girls in 
English, German, French ; Plattnauer to go with us to Gwee- 
dore. Big new mill ; big peat stacks ; carriage - house, some 
three nice sleek wiry horses, " all kept at work," and able for 
it. Air of gentleman farmer's place, and something more ; car 
about eleven and swift firm horse, rain threatening — which came 
only to a heavy Scotch mist now and then, with brief showers. 
Tattery untrimmed fields, too small, ill fenced, not right in any 
way. AVretched, puddly village, " Kilmacrenan," like an in- 
verted saddle in site, brook running through the heart of it (?) ; 
miserable raree "caravan" stationed there, amid the dirt, pov- 
erty, and incipient ruin. Road heavy and wet, past many ill- 
regulated little farms. Dunghill of one, " I have admonished 
him not to let it run to waste so," but he doesn't mind ! Road 
(is all very obscure to'fne; cardinal points, at the time, not well 
made out, which is always fatal to one's recollection) — road, 
leading N.-westward, begins mounting, is still a little cultivated, 
very steep side road to north, Letterkenny to Glen and Carrick- 
art (I suppose) ; mounts, mounts, occasional mist-rain a little 
heavier, ^ay calm and silvery, bleared glimpses had of the 
moor. " National school " high up. I descend and enter. 
Lord George waits cheerfully, but won't ; the worst of all con- 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



S9 



ccivabic " national schools ;" poor, dreary, frozen-alive scliool- 
master, and ten or twelve rairged children : " Parents take thcni 
all away in turf-time;" thoy learn nothitu/ at any time. Wrote 
in this book a rf/sapproval. Protest against these schools; 

Catholics can do little, don't always do it ; a difficult affair 
for Macdonnel and Whately ! Ghastly staring "new Catholic 
cha[iel," true Irish " Joss-house," on the moor to left ; the im- 
age of ennui, sore throat, and hungry vain hope of dinner ! 
Peat further on ; foolish old farmer and his forces at work in 
peat-stack, pack-horses instead of carts ; a scandal to behold. 
Moor mounting ever higher, getting very black and dreary; 
cannot much remember the coming of Lettcrkenny and Dun- 
fanaghy road ; do remember scandalous black muddy moors, 
all gleaming wot as a sponge, with gray rugged mountains {close 
to us on the left), with crags, rain, and silent black desolation 
everywhere ; the worst of it, however, I think, was further on. 

"Glenbeagh Bridge;" turning round a sharp corner of a 
muddy peat-hill, we are upon it, and see Lough Beagh, " the 
prettiest of all the Donegal lakes" — no great shakes, no great 
shakes? Hungry improved "farmstead" (some glimpse of 
slate and stone I do remember in it) with drowned meadows 
by the lake-side, to left. Lake narrow (outlet of it " Owen- 
carrow," running from left to right of us)\ high stony steep of 
mountains beyond it ; far up to the left bright-green spaces (or 
stripes and patches), with woods, appearance of an interesting 
2)ass through the mountains ; more Highland-looking than any- 
thing I saw elsewhere; one "Forster" owns it. At the be- 
ginnino; of our journev, and almost up to this point, there were 
large effectual long main-drains visible, just cut ; a young Lord 
Something's property — sorry I cannot recall his name ; he, and 
his " £;overnnicnt money " and beneficent extensive work were 
the most human thing I saw. Begins at Kilmacrenan, perhaps 
earlier. Here at Glenbeagh Bridge was a " relief convnc. road" 
(verv conspicuous intended improvement on our left), but lying, 
as usual, with a wall at each end of it. Mount again; black 
rocky "Dooish" (where are eagles, seen as we returned this 
way) on our left, and road rough, -wet, and uneven. " Calab- 
ber" stream (not ditto "bridge"), I have a distinct recollection 
of that ; cutting down throuffh the shoulder (you would have 
said) of a considerable hill; "Half-way House," and the still 
heathery glen that led towards it (Calabber stream this, at a 
higher point of it, running towards Owcncarrow ? Alas ! I had 
no map of any value; I had no time, no patience or strength 
of any kind, left !). All at the Half-way House, which is a 
coarse, dark, weather-tight cottage — -a rehuildinr/, I imagine; 
drink for the horse ; good-humored poor woman will have " a 
drop of potheen" when you return. Lord George knows all 
these people ; speaks kindly, some words in Irish or otherwise, 
to every one of them. Excellent, polite, pious-hearted, healthy 
man, talk plentiful, sympathy with all good in this Lord G., 
candid openness to it ; fine voice, excellent little whistle through 
his teeth as he drove us — horse performing admirably. After 
Half-way House, view of some wretched quagmire, with a lake- 
let by it, and spongy black bog and crag all round, which some 
Irish "Dublin lawyer" has purchased, and is improving: Lord 
pity him, send more power to his elbow ! I never drove, or 
walked, or rode in any region such a black, dismal twenty -two 
miles of road. This is the road Lord George drives every week 
these seventeen years, drives or rides, through these dismal 
moors — strong in the faith of something higher than the "pict- 
uresque." Mount Arigal, a white - peaked very sandy moun- 
tain, roq/'- shaped and therefore conical from some points of 
view, beautiful and conspicuous from all (2462 feet, map says), 
lay a little west of this Irish lawyer: we cross by the southern 
side of it, and suddenly out of the black moor into view of a 
lake (" Lough-na-Cung") stretching northwestward round that 
side of Arigal ; and at the head of this Lough-na-Cung comes 
the prettiest patch of " improvement" I have ever in my travels 
beheld. Bright as sapphire, both grass and woods, all beauti- 
fully laid out in garden- walks, shrubbery- walks, etc., and all 
shrunk for us to a tidy fairy-garden ; fine trim little house in 
it, too, with incipient _/(/)•)«« and square fields adjoining; to our 
eye and imagination, drowned in black desolation for fifteen 
miles past, nothing could be lovelier. A Mr. Something's, late- 



ly deceased (to Lord George's deep regret) ; I think, a Liver- 
pool merchant ( ? ) : widow lives hero, and Lord George's doctor 
at Gweedore (I learn on the morrow) is to marry one of the 
young ladies : very well ! " Lough-na-Cung " (I heard no name 
to it, but take this from the map) stretched away northward, 
bending to west ; a narrow crescent lough, of no farther beauty ; 
and from the Clady river, which traverses Gweedore and comes 
out at Bunbcg. Here now is Lord (ieorge's domain, and, swift- 
ly descending (by the hack of Arigal, which hangs white-sandy 
very steep over us) for about a mile, we are in said domain. 
"Hundred thousand welcomes!" (Irish phrase for that) said 
Lord George, with a smile. Plattnauer and I had smoked our 
third pipe or cigar; "You can do it in throe pipes" — Head of 
Lough-na-Cung I remember too; stony dell amid the high 
mountains, mounting in terraces of visible rock; like some 
Cumberland pass, new to me in Ireland. 

The back of the Clady, stretching out from this Lough five 
or six miles, and fattening itself wide towards the sea, is Lord 
George Hill's domain. Black, dim, lonely valley: hills all peat, 
wet and craggy heather, on each side ; hills to right are quite 
vacant wet moor (though less craggy in appearance, and lower). 
River-side mostly waste quagmire of rushes ; can become fat 
meadow, and has here and there : river sluggish brown-colored ; 
hills to left (as we enter ; hills to north, that is) ; are of gcnt- 
lish acclivity, but stony beyond measure; sprinkled in ragged 
clusters here are the huts of the inhabitants, wretchedest 
"farmers" that the sun now looks upon, I do believe. Lord 
George's improvements are manifold : for instance, each man 
has his "farm" now all in one — not in twenty, as heretofore, 
one long stripe of enclosure (dry-stone wretched wall, or at- 
tempt at wall, and cottage in or near it); each cottage, too, has 
now some road. But "improvements" all are swallowed in the 
chaos ; chaos remains chaotic still. Hill road from Dunfanaghy, 
descending on the right— not yet quite travellable, 1 think. 
New farm of Lough-na-Cung (Liverpool undow) ; " improve- 
ments;" Ulster peasant in it; has really been endeavoring; 
house is built, slated ; stones, like a quarry, torn out everywhere; 
trenehings, feeblest symptoms of turnips springing, potato plot 
(ruined noio, alas !) is really growing ; gray bony man stands 
looking, with what hope he can. Cottages now of Lord 
George's ; dry-stone fence half done along the road ; has hung 
so for years, in spite of his encouragements to get it whole done. 
Black huts, bewildered rickety fences of crag: crag and heath, 
MBSubduable by this population, damp peat, black heather, gray 
stones, and ragged desolation of men and things! Boat is on 
the river, fishy but «« fished till now; "Gweedore Inn," two- 
storied white human house with offices in square behind, at the 
foot of hills on right, near the river : this is the only quite civil- 
ized-looking thing. We enter there, through gateway, into the 
clean little sheltered court, and there under the piazza at the 
back of the inn Forster waits for us, and is kindly received. 

Rain has ceased, two p.m. or three ; but the air is damp, 
bleared, cold. Mount along the hillside ; certain fields already 
saved out of it, not bad fields, but a continent of haggard erag- 
and-heather desolation, with its swamps and rivulets still re- 
maining. Over the Clady something like an incipieney of a 
modern hamlet, and patches of incipient green ; bridge tliithcr, 
too far to go ; chapel and school (Protestant Orange, no doubt) 
on this side the river; signal-staff flag now mounted, his Lord- 
ship being here, and accessible to all creatures. Dinner in our 
little inn. Lord George's surgeon (from Bunbeg ; of whom 
mention was already) joined us, I think, in the evening. Mana- 
ger of inn (for Lord George, I think) an Ulster man, solid, 
clever man of forty-five. Aberdeen-awa' man, chief-manager, a 
hook-nosed, lean, slow-spoken man of like age : " What do you 
think of these people?" — "Oah-h! a whean deluidit craiturs, 
sir: but just ye-see— !" Walk, with this man in company in 
the evening, to the new farm-house he is getting built for him- 
self, and new fields he is really subduing from the moor; pure 
peat all ; but lime is abundant everywhere, and he does not 
doubt, and will certainly prevail, he. Some five or six Aber- 
deen and Ulster men ; nothing else that one can see of human 
that has the smallest real promise here ; " deluidit craiturs," 
lazy, superstitious, poor, and hungry. 7s. 6rf. no uncommon 



30 



KEMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



rent, SOs. about the highest ditto : listening to Lord George, I 
said, and again said, " No hope for the men as masters ; tlieir 
one true station in the universe is servants, 'slaves' if you will; 
and never can they know a riglit day till they attain that." 
Valley, if it were cultivated, might really be beautiful. Some 
air of stir and population and habitability already on it ; huts, 
ragged potato -patches; nearer there, by the river -side, oat- 
patches (lean cows, I suppose, arc on the hills) ; south side of 
river is, as before, nearly or altogether vacant of huts. Return 
to our inn, after arrangements for the morrow. How these 
people conspired to throw down Lord George's fences, how 
they threatened to pay no rent, at first, but to shoot agent if 
compelled, and got their priest to say so; how they liad no 
notion of work by the day {came from eight to eleven a.m.), 
and shrieked over liook-nosed Aberdeen when on Saturday 
night he produced his book and insisted on paying them by the 
hour ; how they are, in brief, dark barbarians not intrinsically 
of ill dispositions — talk and commentaries on all this. Small 
close room, with the damp wind and wide moorland outside ; 
polite "stirabout" again, to me useless: finally to bed, with 
pathetic feelings, gratitude, sorrow, love for this noble man, and 
hope as if beyond the grave ! 

Friday, 3d Anpitst. — We drive to Bunbeg (mast be far 
briefer to-da}' !). Valley spreads out into flat undulations ; still 
crags and moor everywhere; blue sea with islands and much 
sand ahead ; brisk, sunny forenoon. Visit new parsonage (0 
Orange Protestantism!); parson, young fat Dublin Protestant, 
enters; has a drawing-room with " scrap-books" and unfe-gear 
(wife doesn't appear) : not a beautiful big fat young Protes- 
tant ; but, alas, what better can be had ? To Bunbeg ; village 
(of perhaps three hundred or more) scattered distractedly among 
the crags, sprinkled along, tliickening a little towards Clady 
mouth, where are the storehouse, mill, harbor, all amid crags 
f<_)r evermore ! Crag had been blasted away for sites ; rises yet 
abrupt behind the walls in that quarter, paths climbing over it. 
Big excellent mill — proved most useful in famine time — silent 
at present, till harvest cfime. Ditto, ditto, storehouse, or " shop " 
of innumerable wares ; nearly empty now, waiting for a " prac- 
tical shopkeeper" that would undertake it. Harbor landing- 
place built by Ulsterman of the inn — " well done," as I tell 
him. Big rings for warping in shi|)s — the General Commis- 
sioners of Light-houses (I) did that, after entreaty. Aberdeen 
fisherman ; excellent clear-eyed, brown-skinned, diligent-saga- 
cious fellow ; excellent wife of his {he/ore, in a house that 
wouldn't " turn rain," but was all whitened, etc., and clean and 
liearty-looking), from whom a drink of buttermilk for me. 
Fisherman went with us to the old mill and its cascade (queer 
old ruin, and gushing loud waterfall), when some of his men 
try the net to no purpose. Ancient Irish squire actually "beg- 
ging " here ; follows about in blue camlet cloak, with always 
some new cock-and-bull story, which Lord George, when unable 
to escape by artifice, coldly declares in words that he can't listen 
to. Strange old squire; whiskey .all along and late f,iilure of 
potatoes have done it ; gets no rent, won't sell, " a perfect pest," 
the fisher calls him. School (Prot.) better or worse — children 
all clean at least; some twenty or more of them, boys and girls. 
Sun now is high ; we mount, turn into Bloody-Foreland road ; 
bay on our left hand, blue water; and immensities of sand, 
blown hereabouts in great lengths over the land (as I can see 
from the distance), remind me of the mansion and park sanded 
(name ?) and nothing but the chimney-tops left, on these coasts ; 
straggling wretched hamlet, when a fair is (monthly or annu- 
ally ?) ; go into the baker's shop (Aberdeen, he too) into a kind 
of tavern now under the carpenter's, where Lord George at first 
lodged on undertaking this affair; bare craggy moor still, still ; 
desolate savagery; Lord George and his Aberdeens versus Cel- 
tic nature and Celtic art. Call on the Catholic priest; poor 
fellow, he looked suspicious, embarrassed, a thick heavy vulgar 
man of forty-five ; half a peasant still, yet on the way towards 
better; good growth of turnips round his cottage, cottage some 
approach to civilization ; a book or two — unfortunately only 
mass-books, directories, or the like : we evidently lifted a moun- 
tain from his heart when we took ourselves away. "One man 



of these natives that doesn't lie." Send for him ; rides with 
me a bit — rough, clayey, beardy old man ; clothes dirty and 
bad, but still whole ; can't well understand him, or make ray- 
self intelligible (for he neither reads nor writes), so send him 
away with good wishes. We are now driving, by a back road, 
towards the inn. Farm cottage, with potato and corn patches 
as we go. " Rent," none in famine year ; uncertain ever 
since ; trifling when it does come, for nobody's rent has been 
raised at all : Aberdeen fisherman only clear immediate source 
of revenue, (/ce-house for him ; prices now being bad here.) 
People won't fish, or can't: lobster-pots given, and method 
shown — avails not. Have had to buy out innumerable rights, 
" right of fishing," " right of keeping an inn," right of etc., 
etc., £500, £300, etc., to keep peace, and do indubitable jus- 
tice — after purchasing the property. People won't work (in 
all, or, I fear, the majority of cases) day's work for hire, 
if they have potatoes or other means of existing. Winged 
scarecrow breaking stones (on the other road) this morning, 
with his scandalous ragged farm close by, is an instance : 
wouldn't three months ago ; went to some island of Gola, where 
was a cousin with potatoes and good heart ; ate the potatoes 
out — and iiow he works ; his dress gone to the " tulip " form. 
May the devil pity him ! — On the whole, I had to repeat often 
to Lord G. what I said yesterday ; to which he could not re- 
fuse essential consent. His is the largest attempt at benevo- 
lence and beneficence on the modern system (the emancipation, 
all-for-liberty, abolition-of-capital-punishment, roast-goose-at- 
Christmas system) ever seen by me, or like to be seen. Alas! 
how can it prosper, except to the soul of the noble man him- 
self who earnestly tries it, and works at it, making himself a 
" slave " to it these seventeen years ? 

Lunch at the hotel; inscribe in the "book;" with difticulty 
get packed ; roll away (Forster and all) in the sunny fresh after- 
noon : road seen a second time, not lovely still ; Half-way House 
potheen (didn't taste it, I?) ; Kilmacrenan again, and fields more 
and more with hedges; we leaping down, had walked a great 
deal. House was excellent ; but dark twilight, very cold to us, 
had now settled down ; and all were glad enough to get within 
doors, to a late cup of Christian tea. Lord G. lights fire too, 
by a match ; very welcome blaze : presents me two pairs of liis 
Gweedore socks. Bed soon and sleep. 

Satttrday, 4th August. — .\fter breakfast, to visit a certain 
rough peasant farmer of the neighborhood distinguished as be- 
ina; " rich." Rough as hemp, in all respects, he proved. Slut- 
tish, sluttish, anxious too for " improvements," good terms to 
be given for reclaiming bog, etc. This was a brother of the 
peasant who had " made the money ;" the latter was now dead : 
made by " thrift," not industry ; worth little when made ? A 
eivil-natured man too, and with a kind of appetite for some- 
thing cleanlier and more manful than this scene of dung-heaps; 
poor old fellow, towards sixty, and had "tended the cows" till 
this throne became vacant for him. Home by the offices again ; 
Lady A. with the children in the garden : a delicate, pious, high 
and simple lady ; sister of Lord G.'s former wife. White sand 
(like pounded sugar) from Muckish Mountain (I forget if this 
is the name that signifies " Pig" Mountain — which animal one 
mountain docs really resemble?). Proprietor wouldn't, at a 
fair rate, allow the Belfast glass-houses to help themselves to 
this sand; therefore they at no rate meddle with it. — Coach 
yoked; hasty kind farewell, and go. Lord George driving, I on 
the box beside him ; one of the finest of d.ays. By pleasant 
fields, shady or otherwise agreeable roads, to Ra' Melton, or 
rather past the one side of Ra' Melton. Town lying over the 
river (river " Lannan," it seems); chiefly a substantial white 
roxo along the quay (with respectable show of ships). Our road 
(on the west side) being up a steep hill ; wood abundant, really 
a pleasant active little town. Barilla manufactory {kelp carts 
passing in met us) near it ; small, but jjrecious the like of it, 
and rare in Ireland. 

By pleasant roads still, of the same sort to Rathmullen. Old 
Abbey (or Castle?) there, close by the sea; quite at the end of 
the white, quiet, rather steep-lying village; view across Lough 
Swilly (properly a. frith) not bad, though too bare. To Mr. 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IRISH JOURNEY. 



31 



Something:, a retired mcrchaTit of full purse, our intended host's 
fatlier-in-law. Show}', newish house and grounds, overhanging 
the soa near by ; retired merchant not at home, his wife (poor 
Mrs. Sterling's dialect and manner were recalled to nie) greatly 
flattered by Lord G.'s call, will give lunch, etc., will do all 
things but speak a little less. We withdraw to her daughter's, 
to see our adventure, which doesn't look too well, to the end. 
End is : intended host has not come, or given any notice ; will 
" probably " be here to-night. Helpmate, a thick, stubborn- 
looking lady of forty, childless, and most likely wearing the 
breeches (to judge bv appearances) : she invites, etc. ; but there 
is clearly only one thing to be done — get across to Derry, and 
take one's ease at one's inn. Conveyed by Lord (ieorge ; meet 
"retired merchant" and his son ; use him for getting ferry-boat 
secured (ferry is his by county law) ; off, in the bright windy 
afternoon ; a really pathetic and polite farewell from his Lord- 
ship and poor Plattnauer. In all Ireland, lately in any other 
land, I saw no such beautiful soul. 

Red-haired ferrymen, effectual-looking fellows ; forts on Irish 
Island, etc., five or six artillerymen in each: (on Derry side) ; 
Innishowen hills on other bare country as before, as always in 
this island, but with a Scotch aspect rather than Irish, beggary 
and rags having now become quite subordinate. Across soon ; 
to Derry soon, by a high-lying, bare, " too populous" country. 
Many hungry-looking clusters of cottages (slated here, but visi- 
bly huw/ry) \ a ruin or two ; several attorneys' country-seats 
(prosperous attorneys), of which the architecture was not ad- 
mirable. Seven miles: at length, turning suddenly a corner, 
Derry is there to the south of us, close at hand ; rising red and 
beautiful on elevated hill or " bluff" (it must have been once). 
Foyle moderately supplied with ships, running broad and clear 
past the farther side of it. The prettiest-looking town I have 
seen in Ireland. The free school ; a big old building in fields, 
to right of us before we enter. Two or three mill chimne3fs 
{not corn-mills .all of them, a linen-mill or flax-mill one at least 
visible) ; coal-yards, appearance of real shipping trade ; suburbs, 
gate ; and steep climb by the back of the old walls ; Imperial 
Hotel, in fine — " one of the best in Ireland," says report ; one 
of the dearest, and not the best, says experience. Very indif- 
ferent bed there (wretched French bed, which species may the 
devil fly away with out of this British country !) ; and for 
lullaby the common sounds of an inn, augmented by a very 
powerful cock towards morning. 

A Dr. McKnight (editor, pamphleteer, etc.), warned by Duffy, 
came to-night ; led us through the city wonders, the old cannon, 
etc. ; gave us, unconsciously, a glimpse into the raging animosi- 
ties (London companies versus Derry town was the chief, but 
there were many) which reign here, as in all parts of Ireland, 
and, alas ! of most lands ; invites us to breakfast for Monday ; 
an honest kind of man, though loud-toned and with wild eyes, 
this McKnight ; has tobacco too, and a kind little orderly po- 
lite wife (a "poverty honorable aud beautiful"). Surely we 
will go. Steamer is to sail on Monday at one p.m. for Glasgow ; 
Scotland ho I 

Sunday, 5th August. — Hot, bright day ; letter to Lord Clar- 
endon (farewell, I don't come by Dublin) ; Captain Something, 
a chief of Engineers (surveyors, map-makers in these parts), 
comes to take us out to " Temple Moylo," an agricultural school, 
and to show us about. A clean, intelligent, thin little soul ; of 
Twistleton's introducing? Long wooden bridge, rather disap- 
points, not better than Waterford : viewed from the other shore 
(height'to the south, which our Captain makes us ascend), is 
very pretty in the sunshine. " Grianan of Aileach" (old Irish 
King's Palace, talked of by McKnight last evening), site of it 
is visible six miles off to north. Good enough country, part 
well cultivated, part ill ; to London agent of Fishmongers' 
(Mercers'?) Company, a brisk, impetuous managing little fellow, 
who escorts us to Temple Movie — "Mr. Campbell," the Scotch 
manager, is overtaken by us on the road. Temple Moyle very 
good indeed, so far as cultivation of the ground goes ; question- 
able, perhaps, on its human side ? A dozen of the boys. Cath- 
olics, and very ugly, were at dinner. The " teaching," our brisk 
Londoner indicated, was rather in a staggering way. " Acre of 



turnips better than one of potatoes," testifies Campbell, " and 
easier to cultivate if you do both well.'''' Londoner's .sad ex- 
perience of Ireland ; tries to promote emigrating, to buy tenants 
out, very sad work. "The Company's rents £4000, don't get 
£1500 net. If I had an Irish estate, I would sell it; if I 
couldn't, I would give it away." Look, in returning, at the at- 
tempted futility of an "Embankment of the Foyle;" Railway 
to Newtown-Limavaddy was to embank Foyle; £80,000 (?) 
spent. No railway done, none was or is needed ; no embank- 
ment, only hca[)s of barrows, waste flat diggings, and some 
small patch of ground (inconceivably small) saved out of the 
wreck till new money be subscribed. Very ugly distracted- 
looking flat. Home. ' Oh, let us home ; for the evening, too, 
is getting gray and cold I Captain to dine with us ; a weary 
evening — sofa, back garden, smoke ; walk in the Diamond by 
moonlight; respectable old city. Walker's Memorial; Prison 
Gates, Bishop's House. Trade terribly gone, all say ; much 
poverty. Eheu I to bed, and leave it to the gods ! 

Monday, 6th August. — Breakfast at McKnight's; sunny hot 
morning ; small room full (got up the window of it, with ef- 
fort!): big Derry Protestant clergyman. Ex-mayor "Haslett;" 
weighty set of men. Emphatic talk to them ; far too emphat- 
ic, the human nerves being worn out with exasperation ! 
" Remedy for Ireland ? To cease generally from following the 
devil : no other remedy that I know of ; one general life-ele- 
ment of humbug these two centuries ; and now it has fallen 
bankrupt. This universe, my worthy brother, has its laws, ter- 
rible as death and judgment if we 'cant' ourselves away from 
following them. Land tenure? What is a landlord, at this 
moment, in any country, if Rhadamanthus looked at him ? 
What is an Archbishop? alas I what is a Queen — what is a 
specimen of the genus Homo in these generations ? A bundle 
of hearsays and authentic appetites ; a canaille whom the gods 
are about to chastise, and to extinguish if he cannot alter him- 
self ! etc., etc." Derry aristocrats behaved well under all this. 
Not a pleasant breakfast; but, oh, it is the last! Off to pack, 
and get on board. Shameless tumult on the quays, which con- 
tinued long ; cattle loading, and three hundred finest peasantry ; 
McKnight to take leave, and another and another; and the 
roar of wild men and cattle, and the general turmoil of (Irish) 
nature not yet ended ! Yo heave ho ! at last ; and, with many 
heelings and edgings (water scant in some places of this Frith 
of Foyle), we quit Innishowen Head, Malin Head, and the rest, 
and issue hopefully into the open sea. Bare, not uninteresting 
coast ; Glasgow steamer going bravely, afternoon bright. Port 
Rush, our mooring there ; last Irish crowd. Adieu, my friends, 
a happy evening to you. I'ort Kathlin Island, with many in- 
tervening rock}' islets, grim, basaltic. Robert Bruce, Esq., once 
in Rathlin. Giant's Causeway ; tourists dabbling up and down 
about in boats; Heaven be their comforter! We seem to be 
quite near it here, and it isn't worth a mile to travel to see. 
Poor old woman, who has no money for fare, shall be set out 
on the beach : " My son in Glasgow Hospital !" probably enough 
a fib ; but the cabin people club, and pay her fare. Beautiful 
boat, but not interesting passengers — the reverse of that. " Fair 
Head" (or forget which); combination of crags on it which 
they call " the Giant ;" other more distant cape growing ever 
dimmer ; and shortly, on our right, looms out high and grim 
the " Mull of Cautire," and we are on the Scotch coast ! Much 
improved prospects, directly on opening the west side of the 
Mull; comfortable fenced crop-fields; comfortable /;;/ma», farms. 
Isle of Arran ; Sandy Island ? ( ? Beautiful blazing lights, beam- 
ing in the red of twilight) ; Ailsa Craig ; Campbell-town Bay ; 
and now, unhappily, the daylight is quite gone, and the night 
breeze is cold ; sofa in little cabin, and stony fragments of 
sleep. Awake, still and confused ; on quarter-deck are finest 
peasantry (hitched forward out of their place) ; but on the left, 
two cotton -mill chimneys, and Glasgow is close by. Euge ! 
Dark City of Glasgow, pulses of some huge iron -furnace 
("Dickson's Blast," so named by mate) fitfully from moment 
to moment illuminating it; excellent skipper, terribly straitened 
to land; do at last (two a.m.), and with difficulty got into a 
big, dark, nautical inn ; no noddy, barrow, or othef vehicle to 



REMINISCENCES OF MY IllISII JOURNEY. 



convey us to a hotel. Sleep in spite of all ; huge mill roaring 
in at my open window, on the morrow at eight. Remove after 
breakfast; look at Glasgow (under David Hope's escort); Com- 
mercial Capital of Britain this ; thank Heaven for the sight of 
real human industry, with human fruits from it, once more ! On 
the morrow, home by rail to Scotsbrig. The sight of fenced 
fields, weeded crops, and human creatures with whole clothes 
on their backs — it was as if one had got into spring-water out 
of dunghill-puddles; the feeling lasted with me for several days. 
Finis now. 



This is Tny whole remembrance, or nearly so, of the Irish 
Toiir ; plucked up, a good deal of it, from the throat of fast- 
advancing oblivion (as I went along), but qv.ite certain to me 
once it is recalled. Done now, mainly because I had before- 
hand bound myself to do it; worth nothing that I know of, 
otherwise; ended, at any rate, this Wednesday, 16th October, 
1849. And now to-morrow ? 

THE END. 



INTERESTING LIVES OF CARLYLE. 



CARIilLE'S REMIIVISCEIVCES. 

Reminiscences by Thomas Carlyle. Edited by James 
Anthony P"roude. With Copious Index. 12mo, Cloth, 
with Thirteen Portraits, 50 cents ; 4to, Paper, 20 cents. 

These papers do in fact throw a great deal of light on Carlyle's life and 
cliaracter, and they will be read with eagerness. * * * Few of his most 
finished and elegant compositions vibrate with such intense and character- 
istic energy of emotion and conviction as marks these pages. — N. Y. Sun, 

The "Reminiscences" consist of sketches, and they give us an insight 
into the man's labors and domesticity such as the world has rarely enjoyed 
respecting any literary man. * * * This work is one of the notable events 
in literary history. — LouisviUr Courier-Journal. 

They display Carlyle's remarkable power of depicting character by a few 
rapid strokes, and they are full of interesting information as to the cir- 
cumstances of his own life. * * * There are occasional outbursts of 
pathetic sentiment which it would be difficult to match in English litera- 
ture.— S^. James's Oa^elte^ London. 

To lovers and students of Carlyle these " Reminiscences " are of the 
first value. In the form of sketches of James Carlyle, Edward Irving, 
Jeffrey, and Jane Welsh Carlyle — his father; his frieud; his literary 
patron ; his wife, consoler, and guardian angel— we have, in fact, a most 
vivid autobiograpliy. We see Carlyle struggling with poverty, with scep- 
ticism, with the " mud-gods," with unpopuhirity, with dyspepsia, until he 
triumphed over all except the last. * * * As for style, this work gives 
Carlyle at his best. — Academi/, London. 

Tlie graphic power of tlie book is as remarkable as in any of Carlyle's 
most famous works. — Atltenwum, London. 

FROUDE'S CARLlTIiE. 

Thomas Carlyle. A History of the First Forty Years of his 
Life (1795-1835). By James Anthony Froude, M.A. 
With Portraits and Illustrations. 2 vols, in one, 12mo, 
Cloth, $1 00. Also, in 2 vols., 4to, Paper, 15 cts. per vol. 

Mr. Froude has acquitted himself admirably, and it is rare indeed to 
find a biograpliy so crammed with interest and so free from unnecessary 
triviality. Judged merely as memoirca pour scrvir, these volumes must 
take rank among the most valuable of their class. As a contribution to 
our knowledge of Carlyle the man, they offer full material and adequate 
comments. — Athaueum, London. 

Mr. Froude has gone beyond the limits which most biographers set to 
themselves in revealing the private lives of their subjects. * * * It is with 
the utmost fulness that he relates the story of the courtship and marriage 
with Miss Welsh, by far the most interesting and notable part of these 
rarely interesting volumes — volumes which we can but believe will take 
their ready places among the choicest and ablest biographies in our lan- 
guage. — N. Y. Times. 

Tliis book will prove extremely useful to the student of Carlyle. It lights 
up much that was obscure, both in the man and in his work. — iV. }'. Sun. 

In tlie preparation of the work Mr, Froude has had access to all the 
family papers, as Carlyle's literary executor. He long enjoyed a perfect 
Intimacy with the "Sage of Chelsea," and comes to his task perfectly 
equipped. Mr. Froude has made the best use of his materials by letting 
Carlyle as often as possible speak for himself, simply connecting the 
exti'acts from jouinals and letters to and from Carlyle with a ruuning 
narrative. — iV". Y. Herald. 



WYLIE'S CARLVLE. 

Thomas Carlyle. The Man and his Books. Illustrated 
b\' Personal Reminiscences, Table-Talk, and Anecdotes of 
Himself and his Friends. By W. H. Wylie. 4to, Paper, 
20 cents. 

There is much in Mr. Wylie's volume that we have found a welcome 
reminder of what was best in Cai'lyle. — Spectator^ London. 

Contains a really graphic account of Carlyle's life at Craigenputtock 
and his correspondence with Goethe ; and the best estimate we have yet 
seen of the signal historical service done by Carlyle in rehabilitating the 
defaced image of Cromwell. — Academy^ London. 

If this book is to be taken as an example of the kind of work we are to 
expect in the biographies of Carlyle, Carlyle will have been, on the whole, 
more fortunate than his fellow victims. Mr. Wylie's book is really a 
thoughtful and remarkably accurate performance. — Athetiieum, Loudon. 

lie has got together most of the facts of Carlyle's life, and has exposed 
them in a very readable piece of literary work. * * * This book gives, on 
the whole, a very fair and sufficient account of Mr. Carlyle's life. — Pall 
Mali Gazette, London. 

A timely volume of reminiscences, table-talk, and anecdotes of the sage 
and his friends. It is a very interesting sketch of Carlyle's life and work. 
— Montreal Witness. 

A remarkable compilation of facts concerning Carlyle. ♦ ■• * The author 
has been indefatigable in collecting material, and not a fact is lost. An 
acquaintance with Carlyle gives him opportunity to put in numerous little 
asides, and to give some conversations as they fell from the mouth of the 
sage. — Saturday Evening Gazette, Boston. 

CONWAY'S CARLYIiE. 

Thomas Carlyle. By Moncure D. Conway. Illustrated. 
12mo, Cloth, $1 00. 



M 



by 



Hr. Conwav's book is the most interesting that has yet been called forth 

the death "of Carlyle. His facilities for obtaining a just impression of 
the man, perhaps, exceeded those of any one else. He enjoyed years of 
intimate companionship witli him in his own home, and the chai-acter of 
his mind is such that he is intensely appreciative of Carlyle's peculiar 
genius. The book is, to those who admire Carlyle, like a conversivtion 
with a mutual friend who was closely associated with a departed friend. 
The style is especially easy and fluent, and the well-knomi facts acquire 
a new significance when presented in this attractive form. — Providenet 
Journal. 

A thoroughly valuable and entertaining volume. * * » Mr. Conway writes 
with an intimate personal knowledge of his subject. • * * We believe he 
has come nearer to the real nature, aims, and life-work of the author of 
" Sartor Resartus " than most who have been moved by Carlyle's death to 
present their opinions to the world.— j9os/on 7'raveller. 

He certainly succeeds in presenting the tender side of Carlyle's nature, 
while not ignoring its ruggedness. He lived on terms of close intimacy 
with him, accompanied him in his little tours about the country, and 
reports his conversations at first hand. — Portland Transeripl. 

We have no sort of doubt that the final judgment of Carlyle will settle 
down somewhere around the points of the portrait here presented, and that 
Mr. Conway's appreciative but discriminating estimate may be taken as a 
safe guide thereto. We have seen no sketch of Carlyle which gives a 
more nearly complete and well-balanced idea of the man, as a man, and 
his place in the iutellectual life of his time.— Conffregati07ialist, Boston. 



Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

Jt^ Harper & Brothers will send any of Ike aboiie tvorks by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on receipt of the pnee. 



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